Accursed Chains
by GILLBIRK
Summary: Ulquiorra Cifer has never been emotionally connected to anything. However when chains of his past drag him down into the wizarding world, he can't help himself to feel slightly interested in his past life.
1. Requiem of Sorrow

**_I. Requiem of Sorrow_**

_"When the black and mortal blood of man has fallen to the ground ... who then can sing spells to call it back again?"_

* * *

><p>The dark room was crowded with a canvas work of wizards and witches who were all standing in silence. The uneasiness that filled each and every one of their hearts—save for the old wizard with twinkling blue eyes—was only uplifted slightly by the ten flickering flames which were aligned in a large circle. A small lump of mass covered in thin, white linen sheets lay in the middle of the ring of candles. Five people stood around the inflamed circle of wax light sectioned of from the rest of the group of onlookers. It was clearly evident that each of the five was as nervous as the other for they kept shifting in place awkwardly. Murmurs of reconsideration and second thoughts emitted from the crowd of wizards who stood away from the group of five. Off at the very edges of the room stood three adolescents—two gingers and one brunette – were in solemn silence, inexplicably attempting to hide their rapidly beating hearts. Glazed blue orbs twinkled behind half-mooned spectacles and a kind, warm voice boomed throughout the overshadowed room.<p>

"Shall we begin?" the white-bearded wizard stated with deep intrigue and interest sparking in his cerulean irises; he was one of the five standing in the tight circle and he seemed to hold some sort of power and authority. The old man's aura had an air of elegance about it and his head was raised high. A flurry of whispers erupted from the gathered crowd as all eyes rested upon the old man. The whispers were quickly silenced by the white-bearded wizard's waved hand.

"Dumbledore, I don't think this is a good idea..." came a nasally objection from the dark crowd of wizards. All eyes turned towards the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His flat, coarse black hair gleamed dully in the faint light; his nose was high and defiant; his beady eyes stared straight forward, obviously not caring about the spiteful glares he received. A couple whispers of agreement arose in the crowd.

"Snape, I know you are still quiet nervous about doing things this way, however, this decision was chosen by the entire Order including yourself, was it not?" replied the said wizard as he clasped his hands together.

Once again murmurs erupted from the crowd like a tide of water and quickly subsided as such.

Snape had indeed agreed with the resurrection of a certain Potter - for that he silently cursed himself. However, it was not entirely on his free will that he made the decision, but Dumbledore's. The old wizard had once again manipulated him by using Lily as a scapegoat. A frown was smeared thickly on Serverous' thin lips. Even though Dumbledore was old, he was still as manipulative as a young conman.

"But Dumbledore!" Snape retorted indignantly, still not wanting to give Dumbledore the right of winning.

"No one asked for your opinion, Snivilous!" reprimanded a raspy yet firm voice from the circle of five. The air suddenly became tense as two black-haired males stared each other down.

"No one asked for your opinion either, Sirius Black." Severus Snape sneered through gritted teeth, "But of course, of all people, you would want to perform the darkest of arts to save The-Boy-Who-Lived or more specifically The-Boy-Who-Died."

"Why you..." Sirius growled as he tore himself away from the circled five. He lowered himself down into the crowd and began walking towards the prominent nosed man at a frightening pace. Each step he took shook with indecisive anger. The air around him radiated with burning rage, causing the crowd of gathered wizards to make way a path. Unlike the other wizards who slinked away, Snape held his ground and glowered at the former criminal in distaste. A hard, cruel punch landed onto Snape's face and he crashed to the ground in surprise. He held his pale hands to his cheek and felt it begin to swell. Sirius kneeled down on the ground and grabbed "Snivilous's" collar tightly, hoisting the frail man up in the air. His other hand was in a clenched tightly, ready to impale the other man's face once more.

"Sirius!" Shouted a gaunt looking man with brown hair, bearing the silvery signs of old age—he was also standing in the circle of five. Sirius turned towards to the voice and gave his old friend an incredulous look. He looked at his fist, then at Snape before returning his gaze to the gaunt man.

"But Remus," Sirius croaked with burning eyes, "He..." The former convict attempted to find the right words to describe his outrage but ultimately failed. Thin silence then passed over the wizards and witches like a suffocating blanket. The silence was so thin that a ringing sound could be heard buried beneath the quietness.

"It's not worth it." muttered the aged werewolf with tired eyes as he looked away from his friend in guilt.

Sirius looked somewhat hurt by the fact that Remus had not sided with him, but he quickly concealed his feelings with a tight scowl. Looking down at the Head of Slytherin spitefully, he thrust Snape down on the ground with a hard grunt. The greasy-haired "Half-blood Prince" fell onto the ground with a soft thud; his beady eyes stared at his attacker with hate and malice.

"It's not worth it..." Remus repeated drearily as he allowed his gaze to fall onto the white covered mass on the middle of the floor.

Sirius glanced around the room of wizards and found that they were also trying not to make eye contact with him out of guilt. He shook his head in disappointment before he climbed back up to the circle of five. Quickly taking his place, he regained his posture; he then glanced at the old wizard expectantly.

"Remus, Sirius, Allistor, Kingsley," Dumbledore addressed the people who stood in the circle with him. They nodded in quiet acknowledgment as their names were called.

Suddenly the room felt as if all of the life had been sucked from it, leaving only emptiness and despair. The emptiness left room for bubbling excitement and anticipation to form in the depths of the gathered wizards' hearts.

"All of the preparations are ready, therefore," Dumbledore said in a hard, yet warm voice, "Let us begin."

Sirius walked slowly towards the white mass like a broken marionette (his movements were disjointed and sluggish). Kneeling down ever so quietly, he lifted the soft white blanket off of the "mysterious" mass revealing a tuff of messy, black hair. With a quick tug, he threw the white blanket off to the side and stared at the stone, cold body of his godson Harry James Potter.

The dead boy's godfather kneeled next to the perfectly preserved body for what seemed like hours. He studied the child's features: he took in his godson's cold and gray skin, his long black curls, and his thin white lips. He nodded slightly in confirmation. The boy hadn't changed at all since his death. He found this thought somehow reassuring. Even his rounded glasses still lay in their place on the brook of his nose as an act of respect.

A chilling, watery memory unexpectedly passed through his mind like a slithering serpent as he stared at Harry's blue lips. It was a memory of death:

"_Hurry, Harry, come on now!" the Godfather's voice rung clearly throughout the thin atmosphere._

_Brilliant florescent streams of light spilled across the room illuminating the damp darkness. Dark figures dressed in black cloaks laughed maniacally as they fired charms and spells which maimed comrades. They fell onto the ground in pain. In turn, spells of retaliation were spurted out by thin wands. A couple of the dark figures fell onto the floor. Sirius and the rest of the group ran to the large stone archway that stood tall in the middle of the room. After a quick nod was given by Sirius, the gathered wizards began to form a defensive circle around his godson. _

_The sound of dripping water in the room-like cave melded together with the noise of splashing footsteps. Shouts of spells were heard across the cave and slowly the crowd of fighting wizards dissipated. The battle was soon to be over as the voices of many other wizards allied with the good began to flow into the room. Sirius smiled triumphantly as the other (good) wizards began to let out a joyous cheer. Only a few Death Eaters remained and victory was in their grasps._

_"Hullo there, Cousin!" a voice whined in a baby-like manner, startling the young man. Sirius's dark eyes wandered up the cave until they locked onto a malicious, feminine figure wearing a dark cloak. _

_"Bellatrix!" he stuttered clearly in a daze of surprise._  
><em>At that moment time seemed to pass ever so sluggishly. The female Death Eater slowly raised her wand to chest height –a maniacal grin was on her face. Her wavy and frizzed black hair was blown back by the cold wind, causing her pale features to become sharp and crude. Sirius's attention quickly shifted from his cousin's face to her wand which was now sparking with a green light. Her lips parted and formed two words which floated in the air in an almost dreamy way.<em>

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_A large green wave of light sparked and streamed from the very tip of her wand. It took only a couple seconds for Sirius to realize his cousin's intent; however, it was obviously way too late for him to act. He could only stare at the oncoming jet of green in stupor. But then—a shout, a cry of angst, pierced his ears like an arrow. Turning his head ever so slightly, he saw his precious godson bundle towards him out of the corner of his eye._

_The jet's light began to softly illuminate his figure; his godson was charging towards him with outstretched fingertips. It was a race—a race to figure out who would reach him first, the killing spell or Harry. (A race to figure out who would die: the crazed criminal, Sirius Black or his godson, "The-Boy-Who-Lived".) _

_It seemed as if Harry would win this seemingly useless race for he rushed towards Sirius at an insane pace and gave his godfather one harsh shove. In that instant Sirius was pushed off the highway of death and at the same time Harry was shoved onto it. _

_The bright green light collided with Harry's body-right below the collarbone is where the spell hit- and the boy fell to the ground in an instant. His body was still; his eyes still wide open staring at nothingness. Sirius stood there, pale faced and unable to comprehend the situation. His mind was in a daze. Everything seemed like a dream. The voices of fighting slowly drained out of his hearing range. His vision was cleared into whiteness, until the only thing he saw was the lifeless body on the floor. Why was Harry on the ground? Why wasn't he running away from all this fighting? Why was—_

_"I killed Potter!" a voice screeched with glee. It cut through his dream-like stupor. _

_"I killed little wittle Potter!" the voice whined in a mad voice. Sirius's bleary eyes traced the direction of the sounded phrase. It was not long until his irises reflected his cousin's joyously shaking figure._

_She killed Potter. Bellatrix killed Harry. Bellatrix killed his godson._

_Realization hit him with hard force, knocking the wind from his lungs. His knees felt weaker than jelly and his eyes stung with unshed tears. His support gave in and he fell to the ground shaking._

_The mad witch was now screaming with triumph, "POTTER IS DEAD! THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED lives NO MORE!"_

_Harry was alive. Harry was alive. Harry was alive._

_The pathetic lie repeated in his head like a broken stereo tape as he crawled towards his godson's still body. As he slowly made his way to the cold mass on the floor, the lie which was repeating in his head slowly dulled to a stop. He stared at his godson's chest begging it to rise and fall slowly as it had did before. He gazed at his godson's eyes and wished them to flutter open once more to reveal jade irises. But alas his begging seemed to be unheard. Sirius's black shadow slid over Harry's figure and drops of wetness fell onto the young boy's face._

_Harry was dead. Harry was dead. Harry was dead. Harry was dead. Harry was dead. Harry was dead. Harry…Harry…Harry…_

_Someone was now shouting his godson's name in sorrow and agony—he couldn't tell whether he was the one who was shouting or if it was one of the other people who now surrounded the dead body. Probably both. They were shouting the dead boy's name in some sort of stupid hope that he might open his eyes and laugh it off as a joke. There hope was however unfulfilled and Harry lay on the cold, stone floor without motion._

_The-Boy-Who-Lived was now dead._

"Sirius?" a silky voice gently pressed through his memory causing him to return to reality. The middle-aged man blinked in a daze and his gaze lifted for a second in search for the one who had called his name. His eyes rested upon a mouse-haired girl who had kind yet burning eyes. Hermoine Granger— one of Harry's best friends—was looking at him from across the room with pitying eyes. The pitying look shocked him into shook himself off and peeled himself away from the dreaded corpse. Without looking back, he paced towards his place in the circle of five. Once in position he gave a quick yet curt nod to Dumbledore before staring straight ahead (it appeared as if he was in a trance—a trance which allowed him to escape reality if for only a second more). The old wizard gave him a melancholy smile and extended his hand towards him and Remus. Sirius gingerly took Dumbledore's wrinkled hands, as did Remus. In turn, Sirius held his dry hand out to Allistor who took it in a brisk manor. It continued so until all five of them had joined hands. Now directly above the corpse of Harry, they glanced at each other with an air of fear.

The incantation commenced. The harmonized words of the charm rose into the air carried by an uplifting wind. The lips of the five wizards were synchronized as they spelled out each intricate syllable. A flustering white wisp began swirling around there darkened figures and it snuffed out the candlelight. Thus they were left in the dark; but, this did not stop them from continuing the incantation. The incomprehensible words continued to fill the air—the words seemed to absorb up all the breathable air which left the room in suffocation. Many wizards began gasping for oxygen as it was stolen from them. All immediately regretted starting the dark magic in the first place, for quite a few wizards were already collapsing from the lack of air. They stood in the dark, struggling to stand and using each other for support. It seemed as if the only ones who weren't affected by this aftereffect of the spell were the ones chanting it themselves (for they continued to shout out the words of the charm without even stopping for a breath). More wizards collapsed on the ground, coughing. As their comrades tried to help them up they too fell due to the lack of oxygen. The fear of death by suffocation began to squirm its way into all hearts.

Then there was light.

A brilliant blast of white jetted up from the middle of the circle instantly blinding a couple of the onlookers. As sparkling blueness began to swarm around the room like a dancing fairy, the wizards found that they were able to breathe again. Once the crowd filled up their lungs, they began to appraise the glowing lights. The wind, too, seemed to applaud the brilliant florescent colors by bashing its waves of air in all corners of the room.

"REVERTO ANIMUS!"

The last words of the incantation slid off of the five wizard's tongue smoothly. The phrase resounded across the entire room, literally shaking the paint from the walls. Anticipation bubbled up in the room like a volcano nearly filling the premises of the room with its heat.

Nothing. Nothing happened. The hot bubbling anticipation died away along with the multicolored flashing lights. The wind once again became gentle and brushed against all their faces in a taunting manner. The candles regained their bright light. The room became dark and humid; silence reigned above all.

A harsh blizzard of dread crashed down into the room like a large tidal wave. Questions, despair, and fatigue rode along with these tall waves. No one dared to speak in fear of breaking the silence. Even the smallest of crickets daren't make a sound. The horrible feelings were un-relinquished, held up by a dam of silence.

"It didn't work."

The one phrase put a crack on the dam of silence and all at once terror flowed out.

"Why didn't it work?"

"I told you it wouldn't work!"

"We shouldn't have practiced this dark magic in the first place!"

"This is terrible!"

"Bloody hell…"

"As I thought…We spent all that time on this little project for nothing… How disappointing…"

"What are we going to do now?"

"What about You-Know-Who? How are we going to kill him without Potter?"

"No, Harry!"

"Shut up."

"We're doomed. We're all doomed on this wretched Earth!"

"He's dead and nothing can change it!"

"Shut up…"

"We'll find another way."

"No. We're all going ta' die here…How depressing…"

"**I SAID FOR ALL OF YOU TO 'SHUT UP'!"**

Sirius gasped for breath for the sentence he had just shouted winded him greatly. His voice had boomed so loudly the walls even shook in mortified terror. Quietness immediately dropped down like a heavy curtain and all were muted. The young black-haired man was slumped in defeat. His shoulders were loose and his eyes were glassy—he stared straight ahead at Remus's face without acknowledgement.

A storm of depression rained on all the surrounding wizards as they gazed at Sirius's sunken expression.

"Sirius…" a voice murmured softly. Looking up ever so slightly, Sirius's quiet, black irises met with stormy gray ones. Remus gave his old friend a comforting grin followed by a quick pat on the shoulder. "It'll be alright—"

A rattling sound startled the calm air. It drew all attention away from the bromantic scene. The noise was sharp and echoed profoundly throughout the room.

"Blimey! Look up there!" shouted a certain ginger-haired boy. Ron was pointing eagerly (he was literally jumping up and down) towards the direction of Harry's corpse.

Sirius's eye slowly slinked towards the direction where Ron was pointing. In a matter of seconds his eyes glistened and widened—as did all the others when they saw it.

"Wha—"

A long, ornate, silver chain was growing from Harry's chest. It grew quickly and rose into the air. Taking up the aspect of a snake, the chain slithered around the entire room. The snake-like chain began doing loops in midair as if it was some sort of freak at a circus. It dove down into the wizarding crowd and whirled in circles. The chain continued to swirl around and many had trouble keeping their eye on it as it formed intricate arches and swirls throughout the room. People were now cheering as they chain made beatifying "artwork" in the air ( they were also cheering in relief for the spell had worked) . Suddenly the links of the chain become stiff and it moved shakily as if it was rusted. Soon the chain stopped altogether. Its "head" now hovered above Dumbledore's frame in a frozen state. The cheering that had once filled the room with warmth died away instantly. The chain began to shiver and wriggle in spasms. This caused the links to crash together creating a high, rattling sound. Severous, Remus, along with quite a few others flinched away from the shaking chain. It seemed as if only Dumbledore and Sirius held their ground—Sirius held his ground out of shock and awe, while Dumbledore stood his ground out of pure amusement.

"Would you kindly find Harry Potter for us?" Dumbeldore requested politely with a milky smile. A couple of the wizards began to think that the Professor had gone mad due to the fact that he was talking to a magical (yet still lifeless) chain. Much to their surprise the very tip of the chain dipped down to meet Dumbledore "face-to-face".

The chain croaked and groaned and shook. The groaning of the chain slowly transmuted into a coughing. It shook its "body" hard one last time before it met evenly with Dumbledore's eyes.

"Harry Potter?" something boomed in a croaking voice. Everyone gazed in awe as they came to realize that the voice had originated from the chain itself. The chain swerved around in a quick circle surveying the room before it returned to Dumbledore. "Do you have a sample of this Potter's reiatsu?"

"Reiatsu?" Dumbledore questioned with interested eyes sparking behind his glasses. The chain seemed to nod slowly before it shivered.

"I need Potter's Reiatsu or as you humans call it, 'Spiritual Pressure'." the chain chided hastily in an annoyed tone. "Come on now! I haven't got all day!"

The Chain's body rustled peculiarly in the eeriness. No one dared to answer for they had not prepared any of this so called "reiatsu".

"I-If you mean his body. It's right there."

The Chain swerved around and met Sirius's pale face. Sirius stared back at it evenly with a frown. He was quite sure if the Chain did actually have a face, it would be smiling at him in a mocking way. Sirius hastily motioned towards Harry's corpse and watched uneasily as the Chain squirmed towards his godson. The Chain bent down low and studied Harry's pale, lifeless features.

Dumbledore watched with interest, expecting the Chain to remark "Oh. I see. You want me to bring this dead boy back to life, aye?" or "Pretty boy ya got here. Too bad he died." Instead the reaction of the Chain was the exact opposite.

Letting out a terrified screech, the Chain hurtled around the room like a mad man. It pulled itself up, around, and down as if trying to escape from the harmless corpse. Finally seeing its actions as useless, the Chain rushed towards Dumbledore, nearly knocking the old wizard over.

"Youcan'tletmebringhimbacktolifehe'sbetterofinHuecoMundo!" the Chain shrieked with fear, "... No!"

The Chain then hesitantly backed away from Dumbledore as if the old man was a parasite.

"I see. I see!" the Chain stuttered in terrified triumph, "You're with him, aren't you?" It shivered in fear and once again darted around the room, attempting to find its way out.

"And who is this you speak of?" Dumbledore questioned now very interested. The Chain then abruptly stopped in midair. Slowly and cautiously it slinked down to Dumbledore's height.

"What do you mean 'who is this I speak of'?" the Chain hissed in barely a whisper. "You work for him don't you? Aizen…Aizen-sama!"

"Who's Izensama?" Ron questioned from the very back of the room. He had spoken out subconsciously, not realizing that he had disturbed the Chain greatly. Rushing at a tremendous force, the Chain charged towards Ron nearly taking the ginger's head off. Forcing Ron back a couple of feet, the Chain glared at the redhead in stupor.

"Who's Aizen-sama? Who's Aizen-sama " the Chain shouted furiously. He then murmured in a dream-like manner, "H-He's…sscary…"

"S-Scary?," Ron started as he tried to inch away from the crazed Chain. The Chain nodded slowly as if in a trance.

"Scarier than Ulquiorra…"

"Who might this Ulquiorra be?," Dumbledore asked lightly, drawing the all the attention in the room once more. The Chain then darted across the room and reached the old wizard's side.

"What do ya' mean?" the Chain reprimanded, clearly confused for some reason unknown to the wizards, "Ya mean that ya don't know who your ressurectin'?" The Chain thus shook heartily as if in laughter.

"We're resurrecting Harry not Ulquiorra…" Sirius voiced from behind the Chain. Turning to face the young man slowly, the links rustled with raged.

"No. You're resurrecting Ulquiorra!"

"No. Harry."

"Ulquiorra."

"Harry!"

"Ulquiorra!"

"Harry!"

"I said Ulquiorra!"

"And I said Harry!"

A cough interrupted their ridiculous fight. Their attention was drawn away by Dumbledore's round smile. Motioning towards the Chain, Dumbledore spoke in a polite manner.

"My dear sir, I am sorry to say that since we already have cast the spell, you have to oblige to our request," Dumbledore gave a sympathetic glance towards the Chain before continuing, "I assure you that this 'Ulquiorra' you speak of is definitely not our Harry."

The Chain "stood" still for a moment, determining whether what the old wizard said was the truth or a lie. Time seemed to become stationary and cold sweat beaded down Sirius's forehead as he awaited the Chain's decision.

"Fine," It said thickly as it gave one last shiver, "It's your loss of life, not mine."

With those chilling words floating around in the air like snowflakes, a small black hole appeared meters above in the air. The Chain flowed towards in a tired fashion. Slipping its head into the blackness, the Chain went in search for Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>Hours seemed to pass since the wizarding group had last heard of the Chain. It had slithered inside the worm-like black hole, leaving the rest of its body behind—it was still attached to Harry. Most of the wizards had stared at the small, black hole for quite some time before boredom stole them away.<p>

The crowd that had once stood unified was now broken up and disjointed. Each individual from the crowd had gone off to a different corner along with others of their group. It was then proved that no matter how unified people were, they always split off at the end. Words and doubts about the Chain's warnings filled the rơom. Uncertainty about where Harry Potter's allegiances lay was the common thought the wizards had in mind (except for a few invividuals who know Harry in person—they were unfazed by the Chain's ramblings and had waved the matter off). There were five different chattering groups in all—each of them was as interesting as the other.

The most intriguing group however consisted of Ronald Weasley, Hermoine Granger, Molly Weasley, Kingsley, Allistor Moody, Fred and George Weasley, Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Nymphodora Tonks, Hagrid, and Sirius Black—these wizards were the closest to Harry's body. Quite an interesting group they were as they shouted flamboyantly at each other from the center of the room. They were of all different sizes and colors, each set with a different and conflicting personality. Presently Hermoine and Ronald were shouting about none other than The-Boy-Who-Lived. Soon enough the entire group—save for Dumbledore, Kingsley, and Sirius—were all shouting about Harry's whereabouts. If you happened to pass this odd group, the only word you would understand emitting from their conversation would be the word "Harry".

Sirius rubbed his temples as he heard Harry's name being shouted once more. He was one of the few people who had not taken their eyes off of the black hole. He had sat down cross-legged and stared at it intently from the very moment the Chain had slithered into it. In fear that the hole would somehow close up, he daren't take his eyes off from it. Exhaustion tugged at his baggy face. The heat of the room was just like another temptation for sleep. He bore through all this with sheer will.

Harry's name was mentioned once again and he couldn't resist burying his heads in his hands. He closed his eyes and fell tiredness wash over him. In fear that the hole might not be there, he didn't dare to look up.

"Look! The hole is opening up!" Ron shouted, once again the being the first person to notice a change.

All eyes immediately darted to the small black hall which was indeed enlarging. The chain suddenly became stiff and it seemed to pull itself out of the darkness. The black hole became larger as the chain withdrew into the room. Anticipation once again rose, this time firm and strong. The chain continued to real in its catch. The hole opened fully. A figure stepped out, connected by the chain at what appeared to be right below his collarbone. No one dared to breathe.

Sirius could only stare in awe. He didn't know exactly what to expect when Harry was resurrected, but he could quickly sum up his ideals:

He expected to see kind green (and slightly distrusting) eyes, not cold, cat-like analytical ones.

He expected to see an overjoyed (or annoyed) smile, not an emotionless frown full of indifference.

He expected to see a boy dressed in heavenly robes, not a man who adorned odd clothing that gave off the feeling of superiority.

He expected to see rosy cheeks full of wonder, not green tear marks that gave off a melancholy sensation.

He also expected to see his godson's hands in a warm wave, not shoved into his pockets dismissively.

He expected to see a glowing halo adorned on his godson's head, not a broken bone-like helmet .

And most of all he expected to see his godson Harry Potter, not the Cuatra Espada Ulquiorra Cifer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I've been literally dying to write a Harry-as-Arrancar fic. I couldn't resist when I noticed that Ulquiorra looked exactly like Harry, so here I am, writing an Harry-is-Ulquorra fic! I've got the second chapter half written already! All I need to do is finish and revise it. By the way, this is my first Crossover FanFiction.

Just to let you know, this FanFiction takes place before Las Noches falls and after The Order of The Phoenix.

Kindly review my story by clicking the tempting "Review" button below.


	2. People Do Change

**II. People Do Change**

_"It is not necessary to change. Survival is not mandatory."_

* * *

><p>"Speech"<p>

_(Ulquiorra's/Harry's thoughts)_

_'Regular thoughts'_

_.Flashback._

**[_Reading]_**

* * *

><p>Ulquiorra Cifer was not having a very "enlightening" day—this much was evident. His discontent was reflected upon his dull irises. For the past few hours his usually empty eyes were filled with dark and clouded thoughts.<p>

What thoughts might be bubbling up in this usually clear-headed Espada's mind, you ask? The nonchalant answer: his thoughts were on the recent and odd visions that he had been having. The visions had started from the very beginning of the day and had refused to stop flowing into his mind. Images of flying broomsticks ridden in sports; portraits which were literally full of life; two smiling faces—one brunette and one ginger_; _a white-bearded man_; _and words that created brilliant flashes of light, ravaged his usually clear , however, found the images very uninteresting and analyzed them dismissively:

- Flying broomsticks in sports: (_What trash. I can already concentrate my reiryoku beneath my feet and make way a path for me to walk on air. Don't the people in my visions have enough reiryoku to make way a path for themselves? Another addition to the trashiness of this image is the fact that the flying broomsticks are used for __fun__. By what I can tell, the people in my visions are clearly at war. If this is so, why are they wasting their time playing ridiculous games?_)

- Living portraits: (_The pictures are completely useless if they can't interact in the physical world—more trash)_

- The ginger and brunette—from his visions he dubbed them as "Hermione" and "Ronald": (_They seem very weak and dependant on many things.)_

- The old, white-bearded man: (_He has some substantial reiryoku—although not nearly enough to prove either as a threat or an asset. I have to admit though: this man is as interesting as Aizen-sama)_

Finally after summarizing his ideals, he concluded his analysis:

(_The origins of images are obviously from my past life. Something having to deal with my previous incarnate must be causing these memories of my old life to appear—if something from my past life weren't causing this, these images would've started much earlier. Something large and unexpected is probably heading my way. I would inform Aizen-sama, but I know very well that Aizen-sama is aware of these happenings—)_

"Ulquiorra…." A voice leered from behind, slicing through his thoughts. A lengthy shadow was cast over his short figure and an insane and pleasured grin stared at his back.

The Cuatra who had been strolling down the halls of Las Noches in an elegant manner—hands in pocket and shoulder loosened —stopped and turned one green eye on his follower. He knew who his pursuer was even before he had turned an eye upon him, for he had sensed the powerful reiatsu of the person from the very start.

"What is it… Nnoitra?"

The Quinta Espada's grin widened as his slanted eyes studied the Cuatra with sick amusement. A crude wave of power crashed down around the room as the Quinta approached the Cuatra. The crashing power seemed to flood the room with a sickening pressure. Ulquiorra, however, took no notice of this power and continued to give the lower numbered Espada a look of disinterest.

"How's Pet-sama? She bein' a good bitch?"

The Quinta's smile never dropped as he said the disturbing phrase. Though this sentence may have sickened a regular human, Ulquiorra simply stared at Nnoitra with a gaze of distaste. This gaze only made Nnoitra's smile widen.

"Did you teach her any good tricks yet?" Nnoitra continued in a sarcastic tone, "I keep tellin' you to teach the whore something good!"

The twosome stared at each other for a moment and the pressure in the room increased at a grotesque rate. The Cuatra quickly broke off the stare down without a drop of satisfaction.

Turning his head away in disgust, Ulquiorra walked away from the taller Espada leaving one word hanging in the air.

"Revolting."

Ulquiorra stepped into the premises of his room and allowed the light from the hallway to shower its rays upon his dorm. His green orbs surveyed the dusty, cold room taking in the primed white walls and the tall, oak bookcases that lined them. He then gazed at the other belongings he had. A small rectangular bed lay along the bottom left corner of the room. Its sheets were white and straightened; the pillow, which lay on top of it, was covered in a thick layer of dust. It looked as if the bed hadn't been touched for centuries. Across from the bed, a long black sofa was placed awkwardly facing the door. Unlike the dust-covered bed, the sofa looked as if it had been sat on and slept on recently.

The room was monochrome-themed: empty and desolate. Very much like the personality of the Espada who gazed upon it.

Striding over to the black sofa, the Cuatra un-pocketed his left hand and gently trailed his fingers over the dark leather. After brushing the sofa with his fingertips, he swiftly raised his left hand and extended it towards the bookshelf. The very tips of his hand met with the solid bind of a book. Allowing his index finger rest on the golden title that was written on the bind, he quickly read the letters that were there. They read: The Wizarding World – A Truth or a Truth? His eyes studied the title for a moment. The golden words reflected in his green pools and seemed to glitter with temptation. Temptation thus slid Herself into the depths of his eyes and soaked into his pores. Turning and twisting, She went through his consciousness in search of his heart. Her search, however, proved futile for when She arrived in the spot where his heart should've been, all She found was a hollowed out hole. There She lay writhing in agony until She was crushed by emptiness and despair.

As if satisfied with Temptation's death, the Cuatra quickly pulled out the selection and walked nonchalantly over to the sofa. He quietly sat down and unzipped the collar of his jacket to reveal his small hollow hole. He slowly flipped to the very first page and saw that a lengthy introduction was written on its face—the introduction went on for at least ten pages. Ignoring the introduction _(Just a madman's trash), _he arrived at the first chapter.

**[_The Wizarding World has been the object of many debates—]_**

Ulquiorra stared at the first sentence dully. The book was obviously biased. It was so obviously biased that even Yammycould've easily pointed it out by reading just the first page. He dismissed the biased-ness and continued on reading.

**[_For many years humans have eagerly pointed out the existence of magic and have tried to practice it for themselves. All the attempts humans have made have failed—]_**

_(—That's why humans are trash—)_

_[**After much research it was discovered that magic passes on from the blood. At first it was believed that only a child with two wizarding parents can have the ability to form magic. These children were classified as "purebloods". However after much study, it was proved that to obtain magical powers a magical parent was not needed. This discovery led to the true revealing of wizards—]**_

A quiet rattling sound reached the Cuatra's ears. His cat-like eyes didn't leave the faded words of the page; however, he stretched out his Pequisa and slowly felt the reiryoku around his section of Las Noches—his section was fairly large, although he never used up all of the space (he preferred his section to be empty). He slowly stretched his Pequisa even farther, feeling the reiryoku of regular Arrancar and occasionally an Espada. He scanned and evaluated until he came across a peculiar type of reiryoku in his Pequisa. The level of the reiryoku was way to low to be that of an Arrancar and its texture felt slightly different to that of a Hollow's.

The rattling sound thus became louder and more audible until the Cuatra was able to determine that the noise was the sound of links crashing together.

"GOMENASAI, ULQUIORRA-SAMA!" a sudden voice cried out violently. The Cuatra turned his head slightly and saw a silver stream heading towards his direction. His green eyes didn't even widen in surprise as the silverness approached. He simply stood up and jumped over the chain as if it was a jump rope. Then he stared at it as it crashed into the wall. Slipping his hands leisurely into his pockets, he turned to face the direction of where the silver links had crashed. He silently stared at his now smoking walls and waited for the silver links to reappear. Soon enough, the head of the chain poked out of the white rubble and appeared to wriggle in midair, taking forth the aspect of a snake. The snake-like chain then gazed around the room and somehow slid past the Cuatra's figure as if he wasn't even there.

"What are you, Chain?" the Cuatra questioned in a monotone voice that caused the Chain to "jump" up five feet in the air. The Chain then froze like a statue as Ulquiorra evaluated it with his cattish eyes.

_(Its reiatsu is different from a hollow's and a shinigami's. It also seems to be neither Arrancar nor Vizard. It's not a mod soul either. Interesting. However its reiryoku is pathetically weak and it seems to have—)_

"Ulquiorra-sama," the Chain stated in a dutiful manner, "I am obliged to bring you to my summoner's place!"

_(So it's a summoned creature—)_

The Chain then charged at him at a quick speed and hurtled towards his figure—towards his hollow hole to be specific. It didn't take much for Ulquiorra to simply sidestep the attack. He was slightly surprised, though when the Chain doubled back to attack him from behind. Only slightly surprised. When the Chain attacked him from his back, the Cuatra quickly sprang a few feet in the air and grabbed at the Chain's "throat" as it darted beneath him. Thus he had stopped the Chain one handedly—his other hand was still pocketed.

The Chain writhed in his grasp until it stopped moving completely. Knowing fully well that the Chain was simply feigning death, Ulquiorra sent a swift burst of reiatsu through its body. The Chain shook as a small spark of green traveled up its links. Although only an exceptionally small burst of reiatsu was given to the Chain, it let out a loud yelp and started twisting in agony in the Espada's grasp. Ulquiorra gazed down at it without remorse as it shivered in pain.

_(Its defenses are very weak and it seems as if it is unfamiliar with an Arrancar's reiatsu. Since it is so unfamiliar with an Arrancar's reiatsuwhich can only mean that Soul Society definitely did not order this trash after me. Soul Society may be trash, but it is obvious that they have some highly intellectual people among them. Aizen-sama cannot be the culprit either for if he were, he would have sent something of much more ability. The only reasonable answer left is something from my past life is coming back at me.)_

"Speak, trash." The Cuatra stated without a drop of emotion, "Someone from my pre-hollow life sent you to me. You will tell me who. You have no choice. You only have a voice which can only answer to me."

The Chain tried to tug its way out of the Espada's grasp and it even tried to scar the Cuatra with its links. However as an Arrancar and an Espada, Ulquiorra's heiro simply classified the Chain's attack with that of a spec of dust. As if giving in, the Chain let out a small croak.

"Harry Potter…" was its quiet answer.

_Harry Potter._

The word was unfamiliar to him.

_(A lie.)_

Ulquiorra's sharp eyes pierced the Chain's "face" dispassionately. The Chain could only rustle in fear as empty, pitiless eyes stared it down.

"It was the old man!" the Chain finally shouted, "Dumbledore! Dumbledore sent me!"

_Dumbledore._

This name Ulquiorra recognized immediately. Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore.

"He wants me to bring you back to him!" the Chain continued frantically, not noticing the Cuatra's faraway look. The Chain also didn't notice as an old memory played upon the Espada's green eyes like an aged film.

_(Damn.)_

Ulquiorra gazed at the vision before him with much distaste knowing fully well that when he returned to reality the Chain would've already dragged him to this "Dumbledore". He had struggled to pull himself out of his trance-like state a few moments earlier. Ripping the colorful images that played in his head to pieces, he quickly found that the images had easily regenerated themselves once he had let them be. Thus he gazed at the trashy memory without interest. As he gazed at the memory, he found it slightly surprising that no recognizable images were appearing before him. He could only pick up voices:

"_His name is Faux."_

_"It is our choices Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."_

_"You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it …"_

"_Reincarnated from ashes –"_

The old man's voice suddenly faded and was voiced over by the sound of rushing wind. The colorful memory washed away and was replaced by darkness. A light twinkled above him like a ray of sunlight piercing the blackness. Knowing fully well that he was reaching consciousness, Ulquiorra gazed up at the glimmering brightness. The light became larger as he stared up at it until it completely swallowed him whole.

As the Espada's eyes slowly opened, he quickly noticed that his location was different much to his unsurprise. The Cuatra was now standing in the air in a dark candlelit room above a large crowd of colorful people. Ulquiorra surveyed the people below him with keen interest as he once again slipped his hands into his pockets. The gathered crowd was separated into five different groups around the room. Four groups stood in swaying silence in each of the four corners of the room; one group—the most extravagant one—stood quietly in the center of the dark room. Quickly dismissing the fact that all of them were staring at him in disbelief, he studied their reiatsu carefully. After a very quick analysis (hardly any of them had any significant amount of reiatsu so his search was unsurprisingly short), he determined that the people with the most reiatsu stood in the center of the room. With that idea in his mind, his gaze quickly shifted from the crowd to the center group. He first surveyed the characteristics of the group: an orange-haired male who was shakily pointing at him (_Ronald…); _a mouse-haired female who had wetness flowing from her eyes (_Hermione…); _two identical ginger males whom he did not recognize; a black and tall male—another face he did not recognize; a greasy-haired old man with an odd protruding eyeball—yet another stranger; an old-looking young man with brown hair sprinkled with gray flecks—unrecognizable once again; a burly and tall bearded man _(Hardrig…I believe…),_ a woman with hair that flashed different colors—a stranger in his eyes; a stout looking motherly figure with warm eyes—once again a stranger; a man with long black hair who gave him an intense look ;and an old man with twinkling blue eyes (_Dumbledore). _

Ulquiorra Cifer's green pools locked onto Dumbledore's stationary figure. As he began to stride towards the old man, a silver object suddenly flashed its way into his view. Before even looking directly at it, Ulquiorra knew that the Chain was directly in his way. His eyes locked onto the Chain and traced what it was connected to. His eyes widened —it seemed like the first act of emotion that the Cuatra had ever displayed—as he came to realize that the Chain had connected itself to him. More specifically the Chain had connected itself to his hollow hole. He slipped his hand out of his pocket and gently wrapped his fingers around the Chain in front of him. He gave it a quick experimental tug and felt the edges of his hollow hole become strained and braised by the Chain.

_(Chain of Fate. What am I connected to?)_

"Harry…"

His cat-like eyes followed the links of the Chain until they locked onto a mass that laid the floor. His enhanced eyes quickly made out a shape of a body—a corpse to be more specific. He slipped his hand back into his pocket and flowed leisurely down to the mass on the floor. He swept past the group of people who he had analyzed—he did not notice as they gave him a look of confusion—and alighted on the ground next to the body.

The Cuatra studied the features of a young boy about the age sixteen. His green irises ran over the boy's delicate features: shaggy black hair, rounded glasses that rested on the brook of the boy's petite nose, and pale lips. It was quite obvious that this boy was dead—and judging by the leftover traces of reiatsu the boy had been dead for quite some time. He closed his eyes as he drew his final conclusion:

_(This corpse must be mine. And the people standing around me are trying to revive me for their own purposes. By what means are they able to revive the dead?)_

He reached for the Chain with his left hand and enclosed his fingers around it. Sending a fair amount of reiatsu towards the corpse through the Chain, he watched as the corpse jumped and writhed from the burst of energy. The dead body continued to twist and turn like a thrown ragged doll as the Cuatra continued to supply the body with reiatsu.

"Harry my boy," echoed a smooth voice. The voice got no response from the short male. The voice then tried again, "Ulquiorra, then?"

Ulquiorra's cat-like eyes met with and old, yet sturdy figure. Glad to have the Espada's attention the voice continued, "I know you must be very confused—"

"_Anatahadonoyouni watashi no namae nitsuite shitte imasuka?"_ the Fourth Espada questioned in a cold manner, "_Watashi haanatani watashi no namae wo atae takotowo omoidashi masen."_

"Huh?" the ginger male—Ronald—questioned in clear confusion. Many other people were in the same state of the orange-haired male as well. They shot questioning looks at each other until a certain brunette relinquished them from the enigma

"He's speaking Japanese," the mouse haired girl—Hermione—offered, silently rolling her eyes.

"Japanese?" Ronald questioned in clear surprise, "I didn't know Harry knew Japanese!"  
>An eerie wave of silence rode over the crowd as he said these words. "What's he saying?"<p>

"I'm not really sure…" Hermione said as if in deep thought, "But I think he's asking how Dumbledore knew his name…and he's saying that he never gave his name out…"

As the ginger and the brunette continued to converse, Ulquiorra gazed at Dumbledore with newfound interest. The Espada had overheard Hermione and Ronald's conversation, learning that the insolent people gathered did not understand the language he was speaking. He then doubted the gathered people's intelligence.

"You've changed quite a lot, my boy," the old wizard continued, "I pray that your memory is still intact?"

Ulquiorra dismissed the fact that a couple people gasped at the word "memory".

"I know who you are, Dumbledore." Ulquiorra stated in monotone English. Not a single ounce of respect leaked from his words.

"Ah. I see. I believe we are lucky then," the aged man continued. A smile still played on his face as he said this, "I guess that you know of our situation then?"

"If you mean your war, then yes I do," Ulquiorra answered as his gaze slid over to the black-haired male who had been staring so intently at him before. The man was now fidgeting in an odd manner as if he wanted to speak. "Your war does not concern me."

With that phrase clinging to the cold air, he charged his Bala and aimed it towards the dead corpse connected to him.

_(It seems as if my reiatsu had dropped to 75% due to the binding of this Chain.)_

As he began to fire his Bala, he saw a large figure bundle towards him out of the corner of his eye. He let his charge of reiatsu fade as the figure grabbed his arm and pulled it backwards.

"What 're ya doin', Harry?" Hagrid boomed as he clasped his burly fingers around the Espada's thin arm.

Ulquiorra noted with keen interest that this man's reiatsu had a similar form* to his own. It was unfortunately weaker than that of a grunt shinigami's. With bored disappointment, the Espada tugged his hand easily out of the burly man's grasp and smacked the annoying fly away. This small smack sent the half-giant flying across the room. The large man crashed into the wall leaving a sickening crack to echo in the air. The wall was destroyed on impact and it fell onto the half-giant's unmoving figure in a tower of rubble.

"HAGRID!" the brunette girl shouted with tears forming in her eyes. She and the orange-haired male—along with a few other people-rushed to the burly man's side.

_(So his name was "Hagrid".)_

"Restrain him!" ordered the man with the bulging eye. No one dared to move either in fear of hurting a "comrade" or in fear of getting themselves hurt. The bulging-eyed man saw this with a smeared frown, "I didn't tell ya to bloody kill him, did I?"

As if in agreement to the previous statement, a handful of people—including three from the centered group—rushed towards the Espada and raised odd looking sticks in the air. Ulquiorra searched his memory and quickly found that these "sticks" were actually wands. Once again, the nihilistic Espada dubbed the items as trash. He didn't even show a miniscule ounce of surprise as colorful lights began to spurt from the wands. Dodging the rainbow of lights with ease, the Cuatra never lost his posture even once.

The wizards now tiring from turning in circles and trying to locate their target, decided to form an offensive circle around him.

"Trapping your enemy and surrounding them." Ulquiorra commented in an almost praising way as he saw the wizards surround him, "A good strategy."

The wizards who surrounded him froze. The "complement" that he had given them confused them greatly. They now raised their wands unsure of whether to attack or not.

"We don't want to do this, Harry." A brown-haired man from the circle warned. His hair was streaked with gray even though his face looked young enough to pass as a middle-aged man. Ulquiorra immediately recognized this man from the group that had stood in the middle of the room. He had analyzed the man's reiatsu earlier and had found that his reiatsu shared a similar texture to that of a hollow's.

"Ningen," Ulquiorra stated. His face appeared almost solemn as he continued, "Attack me now. Do not hesitate. It is foolish for you to decide to regret your actions against me—your enemy—in battle."

Hesitation wove its way around the offending wizard's minds. Their hands were shaking as they lifted their wands high—save for a couple of the wiser wizards.

"Attack me now, trash."

"We're only restraining you, Harry," the brown-haired man stated quietly. With that, flashes of light erupted in the room. The fluttering and bubbling lights all headed towards one destination: Ulquiorra Cifer. Green eyes took the brightness head on. Smoke filled the stuffy air as the spells hit their target…Not.

As the dust and smoke cleared away it became evident that the spells had missed their target by a long shot. The wizards seeing now that Ulquiorra was nowhere to be found began swiveling their head around in confusion once again.

The brown-haired man stood still and watched the other wizards' movements tensely. The sound of hard, rushing wind reached the brown-haired man's ears as a cool breeze brushed against his neck

"Behind you!" someone shouted.

The brown-haired man hardly had enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before he was kicked to the side like a rag doll. His body hit the wall at an odd angle causing a raggedy breath to escape from his mouth. As another wizard began to fire a stunning spell of retaliation, he had quickly found that the short Espada was no longer standing in his previous place.

Appearing behind the wizard who had cast the spell, the Cuatra kicked him away as if he was merely a fly. This pattern continued until all the wizards except two were on the ground unconscious—some of them appeared to be dead. He had taken out more than twenty wizards in less than ten seconds. The two wizards that were left unharmed were none other than the person who ordered the attack and a tall black man. The Cuatra Espada's eyes locked onto the greasy-haired man's one bulging eye. Ulquiorra noted that the eye seemed to contain a fair amount of reiryoku. He also noted that the eye's appeared to have the ability to perceive a person's reiatsu. It became evident that his theory was correct for when the man's bulging eye seemed to zoom in on his figure he had let out a disgusted scowl.

"His aura is dark and menacing," the bulging-eyed man spat. The black man acknowledged him with a curt nod. "He's not Harry."

"You evaluate your enemies—" Ulquiorra stated as he stared the bulging-eyed man without a drop of friendliness. The Cuatra then disappeared from the two wizards' sights and appeared behind them accompanying the sound of rustling wind. "—To slowly…" As the Espada of nihilism began to strike the finishing blow, a loud reprimanding voice shocked him to a stop.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, STOP THIS AT ONCE!" someone shouted with rage. The voice of that someone stopped Ulquiorra cold.

_(Harry James Potter?)_

Turning a calculating eye to the man who had spoke, he did not show an ounce of fear or joy. A gaunt man with long, black-hair reflected upon his icy irises.

For some reason Ulquiorra had somehow skipped over his evaluation of this man—he did not know a single about this man's strengths, weaknesses, or his reiatsu.

The man stared at him with burning eyes. His beady black eyes bore into Ulquiorra's porcelain skin. The Cuatra quickly regained his elegant posture and turned to face the longhaired man. He was actually quite curious and interested in this man for some odd reason that he himself could not explain. Taking a couple short strides, he approached the man and gazed down upon him.

"_Anataha dare desuka?" _Ulquiorra questioned as he pointed at the man's chest with his fingers**. A confused expression appeared on the man's face for he did not understand the words that emitted from the Cuatra's mouth.

"Speak, ningen." He repeated in English with an unamused tone, "Speak your name."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thus the second chapter of this FanFiction is uploaded! :]! I'm not going to make Ulquiorra go with them right away, but he's going to join them in later chapters ( not entirely willingly though [hint hint!]). Bwuahaha. I just love making Ulquiorra hurt people. I'm not a sadist!

Thank you for the reviews! I strongly hope that you will find it in your heart to review again or start reviewing... :)

*I intentionally spelled Hagrid's name wrong to show that Ulquiorra's memory is not completely intact.

** I did this to imply that Ulquiorra is very interested in Sirius.


	3. The Fatality of Death

_**III. Fatality of Death**_

_"Nothingness not being nothing, nothingness being emptiness."_

* * *

><p><em>"Speak your name."<em>

Smooth black coals stared into deep green pools.

Was this boy—this man—standing before him really Harry? This man with icy cold eyes, was he really Harry?

If not, then where was the real Harry? And who was this grotesque figure towering over him?

The dead expression, the sword that gleamed at his side, the deep monotone voice: none of them were Harry's.

'Who are you?' was the question the former convict's mind practically screamed as he stared at the unnerving figure in front of him. He couldn't help but to think guiltily that this boy—man—was a person completely different from the Harry he had come to love. He couldn't help but to feel like he wanted to get as far away from this Harry as possible. This Harry that wasn't his Harry, but was Harry at the same time was not Harry or was he?

Confusion threaded its way into Sirius's calm mind as black battled against green. Black and green, green and black: two colors that conflicted yet melded together perfectly at the same time.

He suddenly remembered Harry's question—his order. Harry had asked what his name was. Harry had asked what his GODFATHER's name was. What was the meaning of this? Harry had quickly confirmed that his memory was indeed intact had he not? Then why-?

A tiny spark of hope glittered in his heart.

Feeling Harry's eyes prodding him for an accurate answer, Sirius could only search his mind for an acceptable reply.

"Sirius Black." He found himself answering Harry slowly, not allowing a ray of fear to glow from his eyes.

He watched carefully as Harry contemplated his answer. Harry's calculating eyes seemed looked over masses of data unknown to Sirius. He could only stare in stiff fascination as his godson's eyes flickered with something odd.

Heartbeat rising Sirius quickly added another phrase to his previous answer, "Or Padfoot…"

He didn't know exactly why he had told Harry his nickname—the nickname that Harry should have known. Maybe he had saw the flicker in his godson's eyes as a flicker of recognition and hoped that if maybe—just maybe—if he had added a little tinder to the flicker it would spark into a wild flame. A flame of emotion, remorse, empathy, anything!

His hope was squished and disregarded like a fly as he realized that the flicker in his godson's eyes was no more than a play of light.

He however, did not allow his sorrowful disappointment to show upon his eyes. He had to stay strong. He had to stay strong for his comrades…and for Harry.

"Sirius Black," Harry's voice sliced like a thin blade through his blanketed thoughts.

Sirius lifted his gaze.

Harry stared down at him.

"You should not ally yourself with such weak trash," Harry said coolly. He paused for a moment allowing the words to sink into Sirius's skin. "They will only cause you bothersome trouble in the future."

Weak trash? Sirius knew immediately—almost guiltily—that Harry was talking about the wizards who he had easily defeated. The old Harry had never considered any of his friends as trash. He never even thought of his enemies as trash. Harry couldn't have changed that much could he? It had only been what? A few months since his death? Only for a few painful months had Harry stayed dead. A few painful months of Sirius living in agony and guilt. Finally after all those agonizing months he had finally had Harry back. And now what? Harry had changed as much as a person would change in years—no centuries—rather than a couple months.

Cold eyes analyzed him for a reaction. Noticing Harry's eyes, Sirius kept a smooth face and gazed at Harry evenly.

He was still Harry. He could still become Harry. It was quite obvious that Harry had lost some of his memories, resulting in this large change—at least that's what Sirius hoped. All Sirius had to do was—

"It is easier to just eliminate them."

The words echoed oddly around the room as if they didn't even understand themselves. Sirius threw a look of disbelief at Harry as his godson's lips drew to a close.

"Ah…" was all Sirius could manage. He blinked rapidly to clear the fogginess out of his eyes. He now saw that Harry was no longer facing him, but rather his corpse instead. Almost instantly Sirius knew of his godson's intentions.

"E-Eliminate them?" Sirius stuttered, hoping to gain Harry's attention. Jade eyes turned upon Sirius's stiff figure. "They're my allies—your allies. Friends. How could you even say such a thing?"

As soon as Sirius stopped speaking, his godson immediately fired off an answer.

"Friends, you say?" Harry answered, "There is no such thing."

From the corner of his eye, Sirius could see Hermione and Ron flinch at his words.

Before Sirius could retort, Harry continued.

"These 'friends' as you call them are just objects you require and use to get to a higher point in a

of standing," the boy—man—did not even stop for a breath as he said this long phrase, "After you are done using them, they become meaningless—useless even. Therefore it is necessary to detach yourself from the trash before you are dragged down by their weight."

For the first time ever, Sirius directed an angry glare at his godson. The glare easily sliced through the thin air causing a ripple in the calmness. The edge of the glare headed right towards Harry and appeared to embed deep into his skin, but he showed no sign of hurt or disturbance.

"Harry, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Sirius said now as he stood up on his own feet. He was a couple of feet taller than the boy and gazed down at him—at his helmet—in disapproval. Harry's fingertips which were previously touching Sirius's chest in a dangerous way fell stiffly to his side.

The boy did not look up at his godfather—Harry was superior to Sirius—and instead turned around to face the wizarding crowd: more specifically Dumbledore. Harry carefully slid his hand into his pocket knowing with odd fascination that Sirius was staring lasers at his back.

That is when Sirius came to notice the chain dangling from Harry's chest. It hung there connected to both Harrys in an almost sorrowful way. He blinked at the chains for a moment before he felt a wave of guilt crash onto him. Had Harry not wanted to be brought back to life? Had he not wanted to see his godfather's guilt-filled face? Bringing back Harry for his own reasons, was he more evil than Lord Voldemort himself? His hateful gaze slowly softened.

He cleared his throat attempting to draw Harry's attention away from Dumbledore. His throat burned as he did this and he suddenly found himself in need of water.

This attempt failed for Harry's gaze was fixated upon Dumbledore—the old man kept his façade of a warm smile.

"Now Harry—Ulquiorra," Dumbledore said smoothly. His tone of voice showed that he was clearly glad to hold the attention of the room once more, "I do not wish to insult you, however you have clearly said that your memory was intact, did you not?"

Harry slow blinked at the man as if ridiculing him for his stupidity.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius could see some of the other wizards' eyes lighting up in some sort of fantasized hope that the reason Harry had been acting coldly was because of his "memory loss". They had just seen proof of Harry's memory loss when he had appeared not to recognize Sirius; therefore, they foolishly kept their eyes glimmering with hope.

"My boy," Dumbledore continued in a slight rasp, "Do you know—do you remember—what relation Sirius has with you?"

Dumbledore cautiously approached Harry with his lips upturned in a kind smile. The boy glowered at him with his expression as blank as a slate.

"I assumed by your stature that you had a high amount of intellect," Harry answered dully, "It seems I've overestimated you."

His green eyes and relaxed form turned to reface his corpse. He briskly walked over to the dead mass and grabbed the end of the chain which was connected to his corpse.

Sirius's eyes widened as he saw Harry's pale, slim fingers wrap carefully around the chain. His godson began squeezing the chain tightly between pale fingers. While grating it in his palms, Harry's hand began to be illuminate in red light. Sirius immediately recognized this action along with a couple other wizards. Before he could react, Harry gave the chain a harsh yank. Much to everyone's surprise—and horror, the thick chains snapped under the strain of light and fell uselessly to the ground. Their eye widened in disdain as the chains began to decay away into nothingness—they would've reacted in shouts; however, they were too frightened to speak.

"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted suddenly, "There's a hole in his chest!"

Sure enough as their eyes locked onto Harry's chest, they found that there was a medium sized hole right below his collarbone. To their horror, they could clearly see through the hole which revealed the whiteness at the back of his shirt.

What the wizards saw as irregular was apparently an everyday thing for Harry because his eyes did not even widen as he gazed at his hole.

Harry nonchalantly slid his hands into his pockets and turned to face Dumbledore—the old man seemed to be the only one unfazed by Harry's sudden inhuman appearance.

Cat-eyes locked onto half-moon glasses dispassionately. Warmness battled coldness until Harry finally spoke.

"I simply stated that I knew who you were," Harry stated coolly. Disinterest and a form of disappointment were woven intricately in his voice, "I never said that I recognized the trash surrounding you."

A plethora of gasps filled the air. Quiet whispers quickly followed it and it was succeeded by heart-pounding silence.

Not even acknowledging the silence, Harry closed his eyes and seemed to be contemplating something silently. No one dared to speak in far of disturbing his concentration. It was almost as if the wizards thought that Harry was a bomb that was ready to go off at any second if touched. Even the injured—they were currently getting tended to—held their breaths in.

Molly who had been caring for Remus's wounds alongside Tonks spoke up in barely a whisper.

"I-Is that true, Harry?"

Her spoken word flew through the air like gentle wings reaching all ears. Many eyes turned upon her before returning to Harry. Their hopeful eyes prodded him for an answer. None came to them for Harry still seemed to be in deep thought. No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke. Everyone wanted the answer to be…answered.

Jade eyes flew up and slit-like pupils were revealed.

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry said in an almost thoughtful voice, completely ignoring Molly's question, "You were able to resurrect my soul through the Chain of Fate by the means of 'dark magic'."

Dumbledore confirmed this, "Unfortunately, yes. It was the only way to resurrect you."

Harry blinked.

"It seems you've changed a lot, my boy," Dumbledore said mildly as if he was talking about the weather, "May I ask what has happened to you during your… 'afterlife'? "

Harry did not answer. Instead—oddly enough—Harry was staring attentively at Dumbledore's right hand. Sirius followed Harry's gaze but found nothing odd or peculiar.

Maybe Harry was trying to remember something? The hopeful thought crossed Sirius's mind.

"You will find out for yourself soon enough." Harry answered as he gazed at Dumbledore with a look of disdain. The expression almost made him look human—almost. His humanity was immediately marred by a cruel upturn of the lips. A smirk appeared on Harry's emotionless face.

A smirk that looked unnatural and callous. "Your death is imminent."

Sirius couldn't believe his ears. Dumbledore was dying? How could that be?

A flurry of disbelief swirled around the room enveloping everything in its rage. Sirius stole a quick look at Dumbledore—the old man did not look even a bit disturbed by what Harry had said.

"Dumbledore, your dyin'?"

"How can this be?"

"Impossible!"

"Harry, what do you mean?"

The murmurs of hurt and confusion continued to overpower the silence of the room and created a chaotic atmosphere of perturbation. The atmosphere of chaos seemed so powerful that it looked as if nothing could defeat it. Then a harsh word was spoken in spiteful tone and the room was bathed in red. The chaos became broken.

"STUPEFY!" Moody shouted. His wooden wand was extended delicately and a jet of crimson sprouted from it. His fake eye zoomed around in a crazed manner as the spell began to close on its target.

Harry did not show surprise. He did not show fear. He did not show regret. Holding his hand out towards the red stream of light, he allowed his fingers to enclose around the spell. The red jet of light quickly dissipated to smoke in his grasps. Moody couldn't help but gap slightly at what had just occurred. He was not the only one who stared wide-eyed at The-Boy-Who-Lived. All of them—excluding the unconscious, Dumbledore, and Sirius—had their mouths opened in a wide "O".

Harry stared directly into Moody's eyes as he shoved his hands into his pockets. A cold shadow of fear towered over the onlookers as Harry's eyes seemed to darken.

"Do not interrupt a conversation." Harry said with a surprisingly dull-tone—many of the wizards thought he would erupt in rage, "I do not like to rush matters."

Moody stared at him unblinkingly as if trying to process information. His bulging eye zoned in carefully on Harry and seemed to full study him for the first time. Sirius watched as Moody's eyes widened to inhuman sizes as he saw something hidden in Harry's figure that none of the other wizard's seemed to see.

"Boy," Moody said thickly with a dark frown, "You've sworn loyalty to the devil." The greasy-haired Auror continued to hold his wand out stiffly towards Harry in caution. Clearly disgusted by Allistor, Harry turned his attention towards Dumbledore once more.

"Albus," the cat-eyed boy said slowly, "Tread on carefully with your war or you will become hollow in death."

Albus grinned slightly saying, "I thank you for your advice, Ulquiorra."

"I do not give out advice," Harry stated matter-of-factly. His eyes then left Dumbledore and he adjusted his gaze to his corpse. His pupils then focused in on Sirius. Sirius stared back in slight perplexity.

The ex-convict watched as his godson slowly raised his hand and touched his index finger lightly upon the air. His eyes widened as the place his godson had touched began to ripple. The air then seemed to shift apart horizontally taking the appearance of sliding blocks. A swirling vortex was revealed from behind the drifting tiles.

"W-What?" someone stuttered in awe. Harry, not taking his eyes off of Sirius, answered the stuttering wizard coolly:

"Descorrer," he informed thickly, "It allows me to open a Garganta."

"A Garganta?" Sirius found himself questioning, "What the hell is that?"

Sirius already knew the answer though. He knew that through this swirling vortex Harry would escape—leave. Harry also seemed to know that Sirius already understood what the Garganta was for he did not answer his godfather.

Glancing at Dumbledore and then back at Sirius, he signaled that next words would be directed towards them only.

As the cat-eyed boy stepped slowly into the swirling vortex, it began to slowly close behind him—it appeared as if blocks were sliding "reality" back together. Coal eyes flickered at his godson's retreating silhouette. Sirius had to use sheer will to stop himself from running after his godson disappearing figure. He somehow knew that stepping into the vortex would mean instant death.

The blocks of the vortex continued to slide to a close until the only part of Harry left seen was his head. His pale lips parted and he said one phrase.

"You will summon me."

The vortex slid to a close and swallowed the rest of Harry's face up into darkness leaving a space of emptiness where he once stood.

…

The Order became deathly silent as all stared at the spot where Harry's spirit was last seen. Their lips were sewn together with a thread of quietness; their eyes held open by the sin of disbelief.

…

Sirius blinked once, then twice, then thrice...

All at once Sirius's world shattered to pieces and the Order of the Phoenix erupted into chaos.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally done with this chapter. I apologize for the late-ish update, but I have an excuse. For the past few days I've had golf practice at school and I've also had a writer's block. I managed to overcome it somewhat even though this chapter didn't turn out as good as expected-for that I once again apologize. **

**Thank you for the reviews! I hope you will find it in your soul to review again-**

**~F-x-N**


	4. Dance with the Devil, Part 1

**IV. Dance with the Devil, Part 1**

_"A brave man is a man who dares to look the Devil in the face and tell him he is a Devil."_

* * *

><p>"Aizen…Ya know that Ulquiorra's reiatsu disappeared there for a moment dontcha?"<p>

The question was voiced in a rude and sarcastic manner rolling across the primed walls of the throne room. The man who spoke could be described as tall, lanky, and snake-like-his eyes drawn into perfect slits to match his upturned smile.

"I am already aware of Ulquiorra's disappearance," the addressed man informed with a charming smile. The charismatic man then glanced down at his silver-haired, slit-eyed subordinate. "I appreciate your concern however, Gin."

The smiling man frowned at the phrase, but his grin immediately returned not soon after.

"No problemo!" the smiling man piped giving a dismissive wave.

Gin then turned his slit eyes towards the other side of the room where a brown, shadowed figure stood in deep contempt. "Awl, Tousen, ya' don't seem too happy now do ya?"

The named man blinked with a frown—well at least it appeared as if he blinked for he wore a silver visor over his eyes that made his expression indeterminable. He nodded hesitantly towards Gin before he turned his attention towards the man who sat upon the throne—Aizen.

"Aizen-sama," Tousen muttered slowly—carefully, "What should we do about Ulquiorra?"

There was a long pause as warm chocolate-brown eyes swept across the room—Gin noted that Aizen was once again evaluating their expressions. Gin was immediately relieved by the fact that he had adorned his smiling mask.

"I hold no doubt in Ulquiorra, Tousen," Aizen reassured a smile still playing upon his face. "I am quite sure he will report in to me—"

A knock on the door cut him short.

"Come in, Ulquiorra," Aizen ushered curtly, his eyes brightening when he saw Gin's disgruntled expression.

"Hai," came the slow, steady reply.

The large white door was pushed open to reveal a short, slim figure. The figure approached and bowed before his master—his lord.

Aizen gazed down at his loyal subordinate with intrigued interest. The same interest that reflect upon his favorite Espada's eyes.

"You have something to report to me." Aizen stated keeping his warm smile intact. Ulquiorra said nothing, not meeting his master's eyes. _'He knows me too well'. _Aizen glowered before his loyal subordinate with satisfaction.

"Tell us," he motioned towards Gin and Tousen, "what you have discovered."

"As you wish, Aizen-sama." The green-eyed Espada answered as he finally lifted his eyes to meet his master's gaze.

"I was summoned back to the living," Ulquiorra informed dutifully as he stood, "and pulled back into my back into the body which I resided in when I was human."

Aizen noted that the Cuatra did not state specifics—for this reason his smile widened slightly. He silently applauded his favorite Espada for his intuition. Ulquiorra had known fully well that Aizen already knew about his past life.

Gin and Tousen however did not. That is why Gin stated the following phrase:

"Ah? What's that? Your past life? Aint that interestin'!"

Silence passed through the intricately designed throne room as the sentence was worded. The pillars and columns that paralleled the room suddenly seemed large and oppressing in the quietness—they appeared to be in the process of collapsing inward on the entire area. Gin's smile widened at the silence; Tousen seemed slightly perturbed; Aizen's expression of amusement did not change; and the Cuatra Espada remained as impassive as ever.

The awkward atmosphere remained until…

Tousen suddenly stepped forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "May I ask what you were in your past life, Ulquiorra?"

Aizen did not take his gaze away from Ulquiorra as he closed his eyes and answered.

He blinked in amusement at the Cuatra's response.

"_Trash."_

_The sandy dunes of Hueco Mundo rolled out in large bumps and rifts resembling crashing ocean waves. A crescent moon lit up the white sands and protruding trees with a graceful light—the scenery appeared too beautiful to be real. _

_A soft wind blew causing particles of dirt to lightly banter two figures that stood under the moonlight. A massacre of monstrous human-like corpses surrounded the two as they studied each other carefully. One of the figures took upon a warm scholarly appearance, for his peachy face was adorned with black, squarish glasses. He was clothed with a black kimono which was draped over by a white haori._

_The other figure—the one that had spoke the word "trash"—took on human-bat-like appearance. His inhuman green eyes contrasted with his pale-white skin. Black flowing hair protruded from his horned and masked head matching perfectly with his small devil like wings. _

_His colors were green, black—and red. Splatters of crimson were splashed onto his pale skin, continuously dripping and staining the white ground._

"_So is that why you devoured them all, Vasto Lorde?" the brown-haired main questioned still smiling, "Because they were trash?"_

"_I will not repeat myself because that in itself has no meaning," the Vasto Lorde answered as he bent down to stare at the brown-haired man evenly._

"_Is that so?" the shinigami murmured thoughtfully. "And what is your name? Calling you "Vasto Lorde" is too general is it not?"_

_Silence. The sound of dripping blood splashing onto the ground._

"Trash?" Gin chided as he clasped his hands together. His smile stretched wider—if that was even possible. "You're callin' yourself trash? Well… Can't ya be more specific?"

Tousen seemed to agree with this statement for he gave a deep nod.

"I agree with Gin," Aizen said suddenly causing Gin's smile to drop, "Please indulge us with more information of your past."

The Cuatra's expression did not change as he answered once more, "In my past life, I was known as…"

"_Harry….Potter..."_

_The shinigami blinked, clearly surprised. "H-Harry Potter?" He quickly regained his composure in a moment's notice. "I see… That's quite surprising."_

"_Is …the …name I adorned when I was… human." The Vasto Lorde stated dully, almost as if he was struggling to remember. His polished verdigris eyes looked doll-like and empty as he continued. "I am Ulquiorra Cifer."_

_A smile appeared on the shinigami's face. "I see, Ulquiorra. My name is Aizen Sosuke."_

"_You are a shinigami who is planning to betray Soul Society," Ulquiorra deadpanned. The Vasto Lorde was somewhat surprised when he saw the shinigami maintain his smile—somewhat. _

"_You are quite the interesting Vasto Lorde, Ulquiorra…" Aizen continued with an almost irritating smile still on his face. In the flash of eye, the shinigami withdrew his zanpakuto and abruptly brought it Ulquiorra's throat. Aizen smiled as he noticed that the Vasto Lorde's claw was only centimeters away from his stomach. His eyes widened slightly as Ulquiorra's claw continued its course—he was however unsurprised at the Vasto Lorde's attack however. Shunoping away quickly, Aizen silently applauded Ulquiorra. "Like a Vasto Lorde, however you feel emptiness, pain, hunger."_

_The Vasto Lorde did not answer, simply studying Aizen closely. The shinigami captain noticed this in amusement. _

"_I can take all that pain and hunger away."_

_Ulquiorra blinked once, twice—finally showing something close to surprise._

"_My dear Vasto Lorde, do you know what the Hogyouku is?"_

"Hmmm? Harry Potta?" Gin repeated—his smile was back in place. "Isn't he that weird human with high reiatsu who died a century ago?"

"Indeed he is." Aizen acknowledged quickly. He seemed slightly eager to move onto a different topic.

Tousen frowned sensing Aizen's growing curiosity. "Is there something bothering you, Aizen-sama?"

"Nothing my dear friend," the charismatic shinigami murmured slowly. "Although, I have a mission for Ulquiorra now that I have discovered that he has ties the… 'wizarding world'."

Aizen quickly turned his gaze from Tousen to Ulquiorra. The Espada's intense cold eyes bore into him in search for orders.

"There are objects found only found in the world of wizards that interest me, my dear Espada," Aizen slurred apathetically. "These items are called the Deathly Hollows."

Ulquiorra blinked once.

"I would like for you to retrieve it for me…" he continued as he rested his head on his hand, "Along with the man named 'Tom Riddle'…"

The Cuatra blinked again.

"Bring him alive if you will… Or if you choose not to, pry the information of 'soul-splitting and soul-separation' away from him."

The room fell silent again and Aizen swore he saw a flicker of something close to emotion in his favorite Espada's eyes. Maybe it was a figment of his imagination—probably not.

"Hai, Aizen-sama." Ulquiorra stated as he bowed deeply.

The Cuatra had accepted his orders, but had yet to leave. He simply stood there as if awaiting something.

Tousen shifted in an uncomfortable manner at this, while Gin's smile slouched an inch. All eyes turned to Aizen curiously.

'_I guess I have to try harder to make a fool out of him…'_

"One more thing, Ulquiorra," Aizen dictated deeply, "I would like for you to go with a partner as well."

"Hai, Aizen-sama."

"I've already picked a partner for you, if you don't mind." Aizen said as he motioned towards the door, "I trust that you've already felt your partner's reiatsu?"

"Hai."

Aizen studied his Cuatra—studied his soldier. He had worn the same false-kind expression during the entire "meeting"—an action that would've clearly scared and intimidated any normal human. Even all of his Espada. Even Gin and Tousen. Aizen knew that deep down inside all of them feared him—he was quite proud of this.

Relaxing his gaze and body the arrogant king spoke out in a loud and oppressing voice. He spoke to the one who stood on the other side of the door "Come in, my friend."

The door was creaked open and all eyes were turned onto the figure who walked in.

"Ah? Ulquiorra doesn't look to happy that you're his partna'." Gin grinned.

"I do not mean to be rude, Aizen-sama," Tousen agreed quietly, "But was this choice …wise?"

* * *

><p>The Order was in completely chaos. Words, phrases, and curses flew across the meeting room originating from each and every direction. The angry words were fired out like bullets, maiming and hurting the self-esteems of those who received them.<p>

Even the children—who were supposed to be put into bed—were growling with objections and anger. Every single sentence shot out had the words "Harry" and "bloody massacre" mixed into them.

The burning phrases of hatred and disbelief did not seem to reach Sirius however for he sat on his chair cloudy-eyed and motionless. If it were not for the steady breaths he took every couple of seconds, many people would mistake him for a doll—or dead. His mind—unlike his physical body—was in complete and utter chaos. Processing his thoughts as if he was in a dream, it took him several minutes for him to answer simple questions like "are you okay?" and "do you want a drink?". The people who shifted around him were blurred and undistinguishable. Nothing seemed real.

The events that had occurred two days ago appeared like a dream to him—no they _**were**_ a dream to him. In his mind Harry did not just nearly kill half of the Order. In his mind Harry had returned with a smile, not an emotionless expression. In his mind—

"Sirius…" a voice murmured as a hand gently shook his shoulder. "Sirius…"

The named blinked slowly and turned towards the person who had spoke. His black eyes could barely make out the gaunt-looking figure of his friend Remus.

"Mhmm?" he answered lamely, his eyes not completely focusing on the young werewolf's figure.

"You better to go sleep," Remus whispered lightly, "you look beat."

"Sleep?" Sirius repeated, not completely understanding the concept of the word.

"Yes," the werewolf repeated empathetically as he shook Sirius's shoulder once more, "You need to rest. You haven't been sleeping for two days."

"**WE NEED TO BLOODY KILL THE BOY!" **a thunderous voice suddenly boomed, "I'm sincerely sorry that you want to get yourselves killed, but I would rather stay alive!"

Sirius was suddenly snapped out of his trance—his eyes were directed towards the person who had shouted so angrily: Allistor Moody.

Shooting up immediately and literally lunging towards the greasy-haired Auror, Sirius began seething with anger. "You want to kill the person who has saved your life a million times over?"

"Sirius," Remus called as he roughly gripped Sirius's shoulder, "Calm down."

"I will not." He seethed—his anger distorted his face into a look of madness. The room was disturbed by silence—it was not exactly peace, but it was much better than the horrific racket that was made before.

Suddenly the anger was drained out of Sirius's face and he let out a shaky sigh. Sitting down slowly into his chair and running through his hair, he said, "Just think about it , alright? I mean it's obvious that H-Harry's memory is somewhat disturbed."

"More like his mind."

A cold death-glare silenced the one who had spoken.

"We need to…" Sirius's voice suddenly failed him and he looked at Remus for help. His werewolf friend was taken aback—Sirius had never asked for help before.

Quickly finishing Sirius's sentence, Remus said, "We need to find a way to help Harry without hurting him."

"Agreed," Dumbledore's voice acknowledged warmly. Sirius glanced up at Dumbledore and Remus—his expression was filled with unworded phrases of gratitude. "Harry has helped us out quite a lot. And he is a friend to us all."

Sirius swore he heard Snape snicker at this statement. He had to restrain himself from wasting his energy on the horrendous snake.

"We will summon him again."

And the order burst into chaos once more.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Officially recovered from writer's block...

Sorry this chapter is so short though... The story will be more eventful in the next chapter...

Who is the Arrancar that Ulquiorra is assigned with? *legasp* :|

Please kindly review this story by clicking the button below...


	5. Dance with the Devil, Part 2

**_V. Dance with the Devil, Part 2_**

[The meaning of the heartbeat - the heartless one]

_"What is this 'heart'? If I tear open that chest of yours, will I see it there? If I smash open that skull of yours, will I see it there?" _

* * *

><p>He was so very excited, no—<p>

He was so very flamboyantly, exceedingly, sickeningly, unhealthily, excited.

His blood was pumping to a fast yet steady beat.

His ravenous eyes were gleaming with sick fascination.

His footsteps were light, but radiated power.

But, he appeared calm.

Down the halls he went, his elegant figure lighting imminent fear in those he passed.

A smile crossed his face.

Of course, he would strike fear in those lower than him—he was an Espada after all… (A proud one at that)

"Espada"—better translated into the "Ten Blades" or "Sword" —

Not that he cared too much for the title.

He was but a simple scientist—a magnificently brilliant scientist.

He was perfection; he was a phoenix; he was—

A large obsidian door edged into his view. He would've easily mistaken the door for a wall because the large closed opening blended perfectly into the white background.

Excitement tickled his spine and prickled his fingers.

He felt a spectacular unnamed bliss begin to grow in the hole at his heart.

The unnamed bliss continued to bloom as a memory played in mind.

_The usually bright, white rooms were darkened in color by the sense of dread._ _A dread which any normal would human be crushed by—fortunately enough the three figures standing in the room were anything but._

_Pink, silver, and brown—the three blotches of color which contrasted in the white darkness._

_The pink was bowing prostrate, the silver in a grinning slump, and the brown sitting in a dignified throne._

_The three blotches of color were playing a game. The silent game to be exact. It wasn't a very trifling game, but whoever spoke first would be deemed the fool. And of course with all the arrogance which filled their empty souls, none of the three wanted to lose the petty game. _

_The pink gulped as another bead of sweat dripped from his forehead to the ground. He dared not to gaze upon his lord-he didn't want to die._

_"You requested for me, Aizen-sama?" the pink choked out lamely. _

_"Yes." the named stated with cruel kindness, "It appears as if someone is experimenting on a few of our friends-Arrancar."_

_The room became heavy, dense. _

_"Would you happen to know of the person doing these experiments, Szayel?" Aizen blinked his caramel eyes, "I would appreciate it if you could tell me who."_

_The pressure in the room thickened; the air became thin._

_"G-Gomeasai, Aizen-sama," the Octava stuttered-his golden eyes appeared fiendish, "I was the one who has been experimenting on the new Arrancars."_

_The Octava then swallowed his arrogance, his pride, before he continued._

_"My deepest apologies."_

_The pressure lessened slowly and Szayel peeked up at his master._

_Aizen sat cross-legged, his head propped up against his hand. _

_'He looks like the devil's incarnation.'_

_Quickly shoving the disrespectful thought down, Szayel readjusted his gaze to the ground._

_"I was trying to use them to aid my research of making the Arrancar's stronger..." Szayel muttered hastily, "For you."_

_Silence._

_"I apologize for acting out of turn and I will humbly accept any punishment you decide to put upon me," Szayel continued nervously._

_More silence. A faked smile._

_"It's alright," Aizen forgave almost kindly, "I don't mind. As long as it is done for something useful."_

_"Arigato, Aizen-sama." the Octava piped quickly preparing to leave the devil's presence._

_"However..."_

_The silver grinned with unseen pleasure._

_"I would prefer it if you would tell me of your interests*," Aizen stated aloofly, "Especially if your interests involve your fellow Espada's past life."_

_'Tch.'_

_"Have you ever heard of a group of people called wizards?"_

Szayel smiled fondly at the memory.

What a surprise it was when he had discovered that the stoic Cuatra Espada was once the prophesized boy who was supposedly obliged to save the wizarding world.

He resisted a satisfactory cackle.

Ulquiorra? A savior? The wizards must have been wrong in then head…. Or maybe…

Szayel paused for a moment picturing the Cuatra Espadas cold eyes and unfeeling frown.

"_My, my, Ulquiorra… have you taken a liking to that woman?"_

_The named man stalked walking. The man who spoke smiled maliciously._

_The named man's white coat swished in the still air as he came to face the Octava Espada._

_Szayel's smile faltered for a moment—only a moment—as cold green eyes met his own (Szayel noted that the Cuatra had maintained the odd habit of placing his hands in his pockets)._

"'_Taken a liking to'? I am simply following orders." The Cuatra stated in a condescending tone, "You, a former original Espada, should know this very well. If you want to ask me something, simply get straight to the point."_

_The Espada of Madness blinked slowly, temporarily hiding his golden dilating irises from the world._

"_Oh?" Szayel hummed, "I would expect no less perception from the Fourth Espada, Ulquiorra."_

_From behind his square glasses, Szayel saw not even a single hint of amusement pass Ulquiorra's face._

"_I see you don't believe in flattery." Szayel muttered. "Such calmness and still-mind is need quite much in the Espada, since half of our ranks are made of bumbling—"_

"_You stated that flattery does not work on me, yet you continued to do so." Ulquiorra's empty voice echoed through the white hallways._

_Szayel found himself frowning._

'_What a deadpan snarker. It's quite too bad I can't experiment on him without getting a cero through my head.'_

"_I simply wanted to know how are knew recruit was doing," he clasped his hands with an unkindly smile. "So how __**is**__ she doing?"_

"_All Espada are allowed to momentarily visit the woman. You can go see for yourself."Ulquiorra closed his eyes slowly._

'_Definitely a deadpan snarker.'_

_Szayel frowned and bit his lower lip and said, "I'll get to the point then."_

_Once again there was no response from the Cuatra Espada._

"_I'm testing my hypothesis on fellow Arrancar…" Szayel motioned to the area around him as if invisible people stood there, "And I was hoping that you would participate in my experiment—my survey…"_

_Quirky silence suddenly fell, but the two Espadas were apparently comfortable with it._

"_It's quite interesting actually," he continued as he pushed his square glasses up, "It involves the memories of pastlifes and if or how Hollows—Aranncars—can remember them…"_

_The pink Espada resisted licking his lips, "I've already surveyed the rest of the Espada—it is only you that I have yet to question—"_

"_Such experiments are pointless," Ulquiorra interrupted in provocation, "I do not understand why you involve yourself in meaningless research. It is almost as if you wish to be human."_

_With the whoosh of his white uniform Ulquiorra turned and left leaving Szayel with a deadly frown upon his face._

"_Che. That damned—"_

"_S-Szayel-sama." A voice choked from behind._

_Turning, Szayel's furious golden eyes met his Fraccion's cowering figure. The fat ball of uselessness was sweating nervously and fiddling with its fingers. The pink Espada approached the pudgy Fraccion with a menacing aura. In turn, the Fraccion cowered in fear with eyes closed, covering his dilating eyes with his small fingers._

_The Fraccion began whimpering as the footsteps of its master came closer and closer and—_

_A loud insane cackle suddenly broke out._

_Cracking his fingers apart, the small Fraccion peered at his horrifying master to see…him bent over in maniacal laughter. _

_Indeed with one hand covering his face, Szayel was hunched over in unending laughter._

_Suddenly the laughter stopped and a spiteful look was smeared on the Octava's face. "Ulquiorra Cifer… __**You truly are the Espada of Emptiness**__…"_

_Abruptly, Szayel began walking away while muttering odd things to himself. _

_His Fraccion on the other hand, stood in place clearly stupefied about what had just happened. He stared after his master in slight confusion, wondering whether he should follow or walk away._

_TT_iHis H_Then he heard laughter. Echoing, crackling laughter. Eyeing his master in surprise, he saw that Szayel had a firm frown on his face._

_Shivering in fear, the lowly Fraccion ran towards the Octava—the echoing laughter was still fresh in his ears._

_**Szayel Apporo Grantz, you are truly the Espada of Madness.**_

…

…Nope the wizards were definitely wrong in the head.

The white doors now loomed above Szayel's figure. He found himself smiling—again—and he placed his early gently at the door, hoping to pick up wind of the conversation inside.

"This is your partner for your mission, Ulquiorra." A voice smoothed.

'_What…?'_

"Aw, Ulquiorra doesn't look to happy about his partna'." A chill voice snided in a mocking tone.

'_Partner? I'm supposed to be his partner!'_

"Hai, Aizen-sama." A voice answered.

Seething with deadly anger, Szayel pushed open the large granite doors without even requesting permission to do so.

Four people standing quietly in a white throne room were suddenly revealed to him.

Mad golden eyes met chocolate brown eyes—Szayel immediately regretted his grand entrance. But he continued to survey the beings in the room.

Gin stood—apparently happy as ever—to the left of the throne room. Tousen stood the right—his hands folded stiffly behind his back. A frown was fixated upon his face. Aizen sat on the throne with his legs crossed; the quiet anger that reflected in his brown eyes was terrifying.

Szayel's eyes flickered in fear for a moment, before he continued to evaluate the remaining two in the room.

Ulquiorra stood straight-backed, with hands in pockets. His cold cat-like irises studied Szayel with a hint of dissatisfaction. Skipping past Ulquiorra's still figure, Szayel's eyes met with—

"You!" Szayel shouted in surprise.

* * *

><p>Ron wasn't quite sure if Dumbledore had lost his marbles or if Dumbledore was simply joking about resurrecting 'Harry'.<p>

For this reason, he found himself nervously pacing in his room while chewing on the tip of his thumb.

He didn't quite disagree with Professor Dumbledore—he sincerely wanted his best friend to be alive once more…however…that man—that monster—that almost massacred the entire Order was definitely not Harry. Or was he?

Ruffling his hair in frustration, Ron discovered that he once again was confused on his own opinion.

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione suddenly called from his bed post, "Your making me nervous too."

Glancing towards the somber ginger, Ron couldn't help but blush slightly—a blush which was unseen by the weeping, confused girl. Walking over awkwardly, Ron plopped himself on the bed next to Hermione and prepared to weave his arm around her shoulder in a comforting manner.

A popping sound immediately stopped him, and two unwanted red-heads appeared before him.

"Hello, there." Two voices piped in unison

"Why are you two—"

" – So glum?"

The two who spoke suddenly noticed that Ron was sitting awkwardly next to a teary Hermione. The twosome's eyes widened like saucers.

"Are we – "

" – interrupting something?"

The twins then smiled, signaling a thumbs-up.

"Buzz of you guys!" Ron shouted as he swatted them away, "Grow up!"

"We were just –" Fred began.

" – trying to lighten –"

" – things up!" George finished.

"Of course you were…" Ron muttered snidely.

"What are you two doing here anyways?" Hermione questioned abruptly, apparently recovered from her nervous breakdown. Her hazel eyes burned into both of the twin's skins, making them shift nervously in place.

"Well…" George started nervously.

The twins glanced at each other, suddenly somber.

Silence filled the room as Fred and George began whispering harshly to eachother.

"Well," Hermione said sharply, "What is it? Spit it out."

"They're starting the ceremony…" Fred started quietly.

"And they want us to be…."

"Out of the line of…"

…

…

..

"I get it," Ron stated hoarsely, "They don't want us to get our guts ripped out by the so called 'Harry'."

"Ron!" Hermione inhaled sharply.

"What?" Ron exasperated as he shot up from the bed, "It's the truth!"

… …

"Don't tell me you think that…that…monster is Harry!" Ron shouted in a hoarse whisper.

Hermione glowered at Ron in disbelief as she shook her head.

"I mean…" Ron stuttered, "Harry wouldn't hurt Hagrid like that!"

The ginger shot up from the bed with her hands clenched at her side. She opened her mouth slowly, then closed it abruptly.

"Wait…" Ron whispered, realizing his mistake, "Hermione I'm—"

But the girl had already fled from the room, leaving burning anger in her place.

"Nice job, Ron." The twins muttered sarcastically. They shook their heads in disapproval.

Ron however was already at the door, preparing to chase after Hermione.

"Ah…" Fred said with a somber smile.

"Teenage love…" George nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p>Sirius once again found himself standing around the summoning circle with Remus to his left and Allistor to his right. They all stood hand-in-hand, nervously sweating with their wands placed comfortingly in their pockets—not that those would help any.<p>

"_State your name, human."_

Sirius blinked and shook the icy memory away before it drowned him in its clutches.

He raised his head slightly, meeting with Dumbledore's worried eyes.

Was Dumbledore worried about him, or was he worried about what might happen when they finally summoned Harry again?

Probably the later part.

A tight squeeze of his left hand drew Sirius's attention. He looked abruptly and met with Remus's gray face. The young werewolf wasn't looking directly at him, but there was a trace of a smile on his face. A comforting smile – something that he needed.

Before he could say a word of thanks, Dumbledore's rumbling voice interrupted him.

"Let us try this again," the old wizard mumbled kindly—a feigned smile was placed upon his face. "Let us pray that the results are different this time, shall we?"

The small joke received no laughs, not even a smile. The entire room was grim, tense.

Well how about that… it was almost like déjà vu. Now only if a certain ugly snake were there to complete the sensation. Severus Snape had disappeared somewhere without a trace, and Sirius couldn't help to feel anything but suspicious.

"Is everyone ready?"

A few curt nods answered the questioned. The incantation began once more.

* * *

><p>Ron was confused.<p>

His placid footsteps filled the wood-lined hallway as he continued his search for Hermione.

He was very confused indeed. He was—one—confused about why Hermione was acting so emotional all of a sudden—two—why he felt so tumultuous about 'Harry's' return—and three—he had no idea where he was.

Twisting and turning down countless hallways, he could not even spot a single item that looked familiar.

Why did the Order have to be so damned big?

His eyes suddenly locked onto one of the gray portraits which hung on the wall. The portrait was of a high-nosed woman who wore a prominent frown.

Frowning and slowing his pace, Ron took his time to study the woman further.

Suddenly the picture flashed with sudden movement.

Ron widened his eyes as the scrawny woman in the portrait stared straight at him and drew her index finger across her throat.

Gulping, Ron quickly paced away not daring to look back at the menacing portrait. Little did he know, the woman in the portrait was simply warning him—warning him about his fate.

* * *

><p>The last word of the incantation was spoken. And the swirls of brilliant light were now replaced by a rusted, floating chain. The room had grown quiet and all wands were in hand—all eyes were on the Chain.<p>

"You truly are foolish." The voice of the Chain spoke suddenly without a tint of amusement.

Silence. Simply silence.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, preparing to speak when the Chain suddenly interrupted him.

"Rage, Loneliness, Age, Sacrifice, Emptiness, Despair, Destruction, Intoxication, Madness, Greed," the Chain said coldly. Suddenly the Chain shuddered and one large eye opened up on its face. The large slit eye stared Dumbledore down. "Which one of those kills people more?"

Before an answer could be said, a hole opened up above the Chain and it dove into it.

Sirius blinked in confusion. The Chain seemed…. Different…

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Moody sweating profusely with a confused look on his face—how embarrassing.

"Well, the," Dumbledore coughed, breaking the frozen silence with his warm voice, "I believe it is going to take a while, therefore—"

The sound of clashing chains stopped him midsentence.

Wands were raised. Eyes became clear of boredom and filled with surprise, for right before them now stood Cuatra Espada Ulquiorra Cifer.

* * *

><p>Ron turned down another corridor.<p>

"Bloody hell," he growled, "What is with all these hallways?"

Trudging down another stairway and ignoring the black portraits which eyed him strangely, Ron decided that it was best to plop down on the stairs and wait for someone to find him. And he did just that –

At least until a whimpering voice scared him out of his wits.

"W-Why….." the voice ululated, "Wheerrreee are yooouuuu?"

The Order didn't have any ghost….did it?

"Waaa—"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Ron screamed as he ran down the staircase with his arms flailing wildly. His foot suddenly caught around the stairway and he was sent tumbling down the staircase.

He continued to fall until he hit the floor with a…plop?

Odd… the floor was surprisingly soft.

"Mffmmmff!" a voice moaned from underneath him.

"AH!" Ron shouted as he scrambled away, "I squashed the ghost!"

"I am not a ghost, Ronald Weasely," a tuff of ginger hair groaned.

"H-Hermione!" the red head stuttered as came to help his friend up. "I didn't see you there!"

The ginger-haired girl shoved him off angrily as she struggled to stand up herself. Turning away quickly, Hermione hid her face from Ronald's worried eyes.

Ron sighed slowly, "Look, I'm sorry Hermione. I was being kind of a jerk…"

As the red-head reached for the ginger, she stiffened.

"Kind of?" she murmured, her voice sounding lighter.

"Okay, fine." Ron muttered with a small grin, "I was being a **real** jerk."

"Agreed." Hermione said quickly, turning to meet Ron without a happy smile. Giving a sigh of relief, Ron's smile widened further.

"So how about we get out of this creepy place?" Ron suggested hopefully.

"Best idea you've had ye—"

BOOM!

The floor rumbled behind them.

"U-uh…" Ron stuttered shakily, "I'm hoping that was your stomach?"

Hermione stole a glance at Ron, "I was hoping that it was yours!"

"Already had lunch…" Ron answered lamely.

"On three?" Hermione muttered.

"Right."

"One."

"Two."

"THREE!"

The duo turned and wave of suffocating dust hit them in the face.

The dust and debris slowly cleared, revealing an atrocious figure. A feral grin. Blood-thirsty eyes.

"And who the fuck are you?"

* * *

><p>Sirius didn't blink even once as he saw 'Harry' alight onto the ground—hands in pockets of course. Harry's cold green eyes surveyed the crowd with a hint distaste. He eyed the raised wands in their hands as if in some sort of amusement.<p>

"Such provocation is unlike you," Ulquiorra stated dully as he shifted his gaze to Dumbledore.

"Ah, desperate occasions lead to desperate measures," Dumbledore offered half-heartedly. A smile appeared on the old wizard's face, "I assume you are going to be coming on willing this time?"

There was a long period of silence before the Cuatra Espada answered.

"I am simply doing as I am ordered to do." Ulquiorra deadpanned, his doll-like eyes burning holes through Dumbledore's skin.

He then turned without giving another glance towards Dumbledore, and strode towards where his corpse lay uselessly.

"You are quite talkative this time," Dumbledore murmured. The old man's gaze shifted to Sirius then to Harry. "It's quite surprising."

Silence answered him and Dumbledore couldn't help but smile.

"Lower your wands." Dumbledore ordered with a gentle wave.

The room became tense, but all eventually lowered their wands—although their hands strayed to their weapons every so often.

All eyes were now on "Harry's" stone-like figure which was moving steadily towards the corpse.

Ulquiorra slowly bent down towards the body on the floor. His pale, thin fingers slowly slipped into the corpse. His arms were in an arc and he appeared as if he was hugging his own corpse.

Then he began slowly slipping into the corpse.

_Thump. I envy because of the heart_

The corpse's fingers twitched.

_Thump. I glutton because of the heart._

The corpse's eyes flickered from behind its eyelids.

_Thump. I covet because of the heart._

The body's eyelashes twitched.

_Thump. I am prideful because of the heart._

The boy's lips parted.

_Thump. I sloth because of the heart._

The boy's chest began to rise and fall.

_Thump. I rage because of the heart._

Harry's green eyes flew open and The-Boy-Who-Lived lived once more.

As Sirius began to watch the event unfolding before him, a thought occured to him. To be more exact, the Chain's previous words finally clicked in his head. Rage, Lonliness, Age, Sacrifice, **Emptiness**, Despair, Destruction, Intoxication, Madness, Greed. Emptiness.. Did Harry actually have a heart anymore? Or did the large gaping hole in his chest replace it...?

**_Because of the heart, I lust for everything about you._**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Finally chapter five! hooray! Took me long enough ;P. Sorry if it seems slightly rushed...

School has been a bitch... ;\

If you would kindly click the review button below and give your feedback, it would be greatly appreciated**. **


	6. False Impressions

**_A/N:_**Well, hello, everyone. I'm finally back after about almost an entire year! Actually, I never techinically left. I sort of switched accounts temporarily- /dodges a thousand bullets.

U-Uhm... I really am sorry for not updating my story; I really am. Life has just been...being life. I am back now though, and my writing style has changed just as I have. Well, they do say that an author's writings develop with the author! Hopefully it has changed for better, not for worse.

Anyways, to get the pairings in this story straight. This is NOT yaoi! That would be...just wrong. Remus and Sirius are just friends are are comforting eachother just as good friends would! But, I would personally like to get your opinions on the pairings in this story. Just put your desired pairing in your review and whichever pairing (not yaoi) has the most votes will be applied in the story.

I'll also probably be editing the past few chapters so you could check on them if you'd like! Also, expect this story to be updated rather quickly and steadily! Another thing: this chapter is a tad bit short, but the ones following it will be rather lengthy!

Thank you for being patient and not coming to my house to murder me in my sleep! And I also thank you readers for reviewing and would be pleased if you continue to do so. Well, here it is:

* * *

><p><em><strong>VI. False Impressions<strong>_

_"All violent feelings have the same effect. They produce in us a falseness in all our impressions of external things, which I would generally characterize as the_ _pathetic fallacy."_

* * *

><p>Ulquiorra, Harry as he should now call himself, felt an odd flutter in place of his large hollow hole. It was a feeling that, as soft and inaudible as it was, was concocious and unearthly. Uncomfortable, yes; but the Espada knew that he would have to bear through his troubles.<p>

_1, 2, 3, 4…_

The shadowy room of rituals became apparent to Cifer as his eyes – the color of rolling forests – opened. Wearisome and apprehensive those eyes appeared due to the dark crescents that hung under them; but the appearance of those eyes greatly contrasted with what really was beneath the morbid exterior. Though Harry had gained a physical beating heart, he had yet to obtain a spiritual one. In fact, he now seemed even less human than before.

"Harry," the criminalized godfather called, sounding oddly stronger than usual, "are you quite alright?"

Harry's eyes darted to where _his_ godfather stood, feeble form rigid with newfound "hope". But Sirius's words, Harry decides (though his interest still held true) were to be temporarily ignored. At the moment, all Harry cared for was…

Spiritual Power… 10%. Just as calculated.

Drudging himself up to a somewhat pathetic sitting position, Harry allowed his spiritual energy to gather together at his fingertips. The effect was immediate. His hand sparked with green electricity and specs of the green light collided together to form something of greater size. Thin and long the "something" grew until it could be compared and porportionated to the size of a tawny stick.

"So he's found his wand," Remus Lupin – wolf of the full moon night – muttered. "But, how…? His callused hand that caressed his wooden wand was a dead giveaway of his unease. He soon became regretful of his remark, because it soon sparked a fire's worth of murmurs. It didn't exactly help his ego much when Harry shot him a dull look at the word "wand".

'Wand…?' Harry thought, returning his gaze to the object in his hands. (It faintly radiated warmth.) 'The power source of wizards. It will be useful. My zanpakuto on the other hand is what I am searching for… I suspected that my blade would disappear due to the fact that it is an extension of my soul… and my soul is now connected to this body. It is an inconvenience, but it will not hinder by ability to complete this mission.' –

'He,' Sirius decided after watching Harry – Ulquiorra, he corrected himself – have an intense stare down with his old wand, 'appears to be in deep thought.'

A sense of unease suddenly filled him at the memory of Ulquiorra's rejection and his interest as well/ Sirius had hoped, along with many others as well, that Ulquiorra would return to being Harry after being reconnected with his old body; but that now appeared to be a foolish dream as Ulquiorra now held less of a human façade than before.

Suddenly Harry began to arise, sliding his pale legs off of the stone table on which they rested – that is, until darted to his side and pulled up his covers, that would have revealed his 'private parts' to the crowd, well above his abdomen.

"You must not be so flashy with your body, Harry!" the Weasley woman scolded, apparently immune to Ulquiorra's empty stares and 'unhand me, woman's. "Here, stay in this spot and I'll be fetchin' you some clothes lest you want some of the fine ladies in here to see you cold n' nude."

Before Ulquiorra could fire a cero at her, the woman disappeared from his line of vision – though not before being stopped by her husband who gave her a handful of harsh and careful whispers. Something unknown jumped playfully in Harry's heart at the scene, yet he know not what it was. After much analytical observation, he labeled it as an effect of being in a human body. He then noted how humans were inconvenienced by such "jumpings".

Dumbledore on the other hand, having kept quite watchfulness during the entire specter, had his entire mind set on figuring out Ulquiorra's intentions. The aged wizard reasoned, after observing the tics and tocks of Harry's newfound behavior, that the boy – man – was there for something of importance and the "something of importance" was only available in wizarding world. He could only guess what the boy was looking for.

Dumbledore's theory was soon confirmed when Ulquiorra raised his black head and stared at Dumbledore with almost soulless (ironically enough) eyes. Such eyes, aged with such icy nihilism, did not belong on such a young face. It was evident that the boy required something of Dumbledore, but the latter man knew that he would definitely not offer Harry that "something". However it was implacably evident that Dumbledore needed to know exactly what that "something" was.

"Harry," the grey-bearded wizard grinned with open arms that signified welcome, "my boy, we welcome you back to the living. Are you quite comfortable with your body? I daresay a half a year sleep does not do to well for the stomach!" Nervous chuckles and snickers of hesitation filled the crowd.

"Your hospitality will do nothing for me," Harry stated in almost the same monotone voice that he had used before. Read: almost. Now that the cold Espada had gained his former body back, he had also regained his former voice as well. It was fair enough to say that young Harry's voice was a far higher pitch than Ulquiorra's own. It was also softer and – in a sense – kinder, but the emptiness of the fourth Espada was still conveyed when he spoke.

"Hospitality?" Fred suddenly piped, throwing George a look.

"We don't have much hospitality around here," George nodded as he tapped his chin in deep thought.

"Especially with Hermione starting an 'elves rights' committee!" Fred finished, crossing his arms to make a point.

The twins were soon chastised by their father and fell silent, but not before rapidly dishing out more "advice" for Harry. This eventually earned them the boot and they were escorted out of the area by a very angry .

Much to the disappointment of the Weasley twins' efforts, Harry did not even spare them a glance and kept his eyes on a dead-lock with Dumbledore's. The old man seemed unfazed by the perpetuating stare, at least until Harry spoke.

"You know the means of splitting a soul and you know the person who has performed such an action. Tell me."

A loud booming sound suddenly resounded through the area, breaking off the deadly stare down.

* * *

><p>Ronald Weasley was never much of a great runner, but now that adrenaline had kicked in after being chased by an insane man, he was quite sure that he would be able to win an Olympic Race. Hermione also seemed to be getting a running boost from both fear and adrenaline – she was even several steps ahead of round (though their hands were linked together).<p>

"Oi!" their pursuer called humorously from close behind them. "You stupid humans plan on making me chase you?"

Hermione, although her instincts told her not to, glanced back at the feral man who was still chasing them at a casual walking pace.

At first the man hadn't seemed like much of a threat with his electrical blue hair and laidback smile. Sure, the odd bone mask that jutted from his jaw like an exoskeleton was odd (plus he had literally busted into the place), but Hermione had learned through all of her journeys that it was unwise to judge a person by their cover. She had soon regretted her trustful approach as the man landed an inhuman kick on Ron's stomach. Her friend had literally flown backwards upon impact and had been barely conscious as she reached his side. He had been literally spluttering out a waterfall of blood and she had nearly collapsed at the sight of it.

"Then again," the muscular man grinned with sharp canines, snapping Hermione out of her reverie, "I love it when prey give a chase!"

A recognizable sound rumbled like drums through the air, and the animalistic man disappeared from behind her. Being the genius that she was, Hermione remembered with sharp clarity hearing the same sound before. Harry – Ulquiorra – had made the same sound as he darted around the wizards like a cheetah the first time he was summoned. It didn't take long for the brown-haired girl to presume that the man was now in front of her.

Unfortunately, her body was not quite quick enough; and she was barely able to turn and glance at the man in front of her, before she was thrown backwards.

Her chest throbbed as she flew through the air, dragging Ron along with her. The airborne moment did not last long, however. Her arched back soon collided with the wall and she slumped downwards. Ron, who had already been suffering from major injuries, rolled uselessly unconscious beside her.

Behind her, Hermione could feel the wall beginning to give way. Tiny pieces of plaster and rock snowed down on her red-vined hair, forming an almost morbid crown of death.

"That's odd," the blue-haired man muttered to himself as he lazily approached the two teens, "that should've blasted you through the wall. My spiritual power has…" He glanced down at the duo as if they were pests as he flexed his hand.

Ron stirred suddenly; and with a trembling hand, groped for his wand in the crevice of his pocket. It was a courageous yet feeble effort that would have probably won the two some time if their opponent was human. But by now, Reader, the duo could tell that the man with the grin of a tiger was not so.

"Wow!" the man whistled, "You fucks are still alive?"

The air suddenly became unbearably heavy, weighing down on the duo's shoulders like rocks. The weight appeared to be too much for the Weasley son and his wand fell uselessly out of his hand.

'This feeling,' Hermione thought, consciousness slipping from her like a wiggling fish, 'just like Harry…'

"W-Who," the girl choked out between a haze of blood and sweat, "Who are you?"

The man was apparently fancied by the question – his identity appeared to be his pride. With delicate fingers, he picked up the girl by the neck and grinned as she thrashed around wildly like a fish out of water.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjacquez," he introduced between his clenched white teeth, "Sexta Espada."

A snapping sound filled the air and Hermione knew no more.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy, son of the highly esteemed Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, had never quite enjoyed being chastised by higher powers – none of the Malfoy family ever did. Yet now here he was in a prostrate position, bowing down to the one being he both despised yet admired. His father kneeled beside him on his left and his aunt Bellatrix on his right.<p>

"You called us, my lord?" Bellatrix questioned with a voice that rose in pitch after every word.

Her tangled hair that hung wildly in front of her pale unblemished face acted as a shroud to conceal her desperate servitude and pleasure. Pathetically beautiful would be the definite word to describe her outward appearance. "Insane" and "estranged" also fit quite nicely. Her master, however, did not seem to be impressed by her display of loyal servitude.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort seethed in a delightfully calm manner, "do you remember when I sent you to the Department of Mysteries about a year ago?"

"Y-Yes, my lord." She confirmed hesitantly, allowing her eyes to stray upwards towards her lord's feet.

"You brought good news of Potter's whereabouts that day," Voldemort continue. "What was it, again?"

Bellatrix, clearly confused at her master's approach, mulled over her thoughts for a moment before a smug expression lit up her face. "I killed Potter that day!" she cried happily, her voice progressing to a high-pitched coo. "How could I forget? I killed little Potter!"

Forgetting her place due to her gauze of joy, Bellatrix glanced up at her lord in search of more praise. A cold threatening gaze met her search, and she shrank backwards regaining her prostrate position.

"I killed him, my lord," she spoke quietly. "Did you not feel the Horcrux you placed in him be destroyed?"

"You said that you made sure that he was no longer breathing," the dark lord ignored the woman's question.

Draco's head suddenly began throbbing unbearably, and the smell of persimmons overwhelmed his senses.

"I did! My lord, I did!" Bellatrix shouted in a defensive manner. "I watched him squirm until the last minute of his life!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw a flash of white and silver. Restraining himself from following the blinding movement, he instead turned his blonde head towards his father to see if he too saw the flash of silver. His said father did not even spare him a glance. Instead, Lucius's eyes were glued tightly to the floor as if it alone would save him from Voldemort's wrath.

"If what you say is true," Voldemort growled slowly, managing to both snap Draco out of his thoughts and keep his charismatic tone, "then why did Severus recently inform that HARRY POTTER HAS RETURNED?"

"P-Potter has returned?" Bellatrix stuttered as she jumped up to a stand. "B-but…"

"That's impossible!" Lucius shouted in outrage, his dark robes billowing out from behind him. "I saw him to his death!"

The sickeningly sweet scent of persimmons once again knocked Draco out of his senses. The smell was suffocating and irritating, forcing the boy to claw at his throat in hopes of getting a breath.

"Are you calling Snape a liar then, Bellatrix, Lucius?" Voldemort questioned coldly, causing the two dark wizards to cower in fear. The temperature in the room began to drop drastically, causing all within the room to shiver in fear – save for Draco who appeared as if he was suffering from a deadly fever. Seeing that Draco was the only wizard who was now showing terror at his display, Voldemort addressed him with a haughty voice, "What do you think of this situation, Draco? Would you think it fair of me to send you on the mission that Bellatrix failed?"

"No!" Lucius cried in horror, whilst Bellatrix mulled in shock of her failure. The blonde man towards his son, but stopped as Voldemort harshly spoke his name.

"Lucius," his dark lord growled, "Let Draco decide."

The room thus fell in odd and unnerving silence.

Draco had long faded from the conversation and had fallen into a haze of nightmarish illusions. Between his ever flickering eyes, he saw flashes of showering pink petals and flowing orange hair. There was also, in the ever rolling images, a sense of security…and a desire for revenge.

"Draco!"

His name echoed with a call in the haze of sickness.

"Draco? That's an interestin' name!" an unrecognizable, conniving voice cooed through another flash of white and silver.

Then, the boy was drawn out of the void of illusion. His eyes, as though exhausted by the flashing images, rolled back into his head as his neck snapped backwards; and he fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.

* * *

><p>The booming sound became relentless, becoming louder and louder as each minute passed. It was unnerving by far and the wizards mumbled quietly among themselves in hope of ushering some wizard to check on the noise – and to find out what exactly was the source of it.<p>

Ulquiorra, having receded his gaze from Dumbledore, appeared to know what or whom was making such a noise; because under his breath, he muttered: "Grimmjow…"

And soon the source of the boom was made apparent to them as the great oak wood doors of the summoning room were drawn open and two bodily masses were tossed inside.

"Hermione!" Remus identified the bloody bodies in horror, "Ron!" There werewolf, along with a few others, ran towards the deathly pale teens in hopes of finding them alive.

Dumbledore, now filled with unsightly rage, stared upon the one who had barged into the room with malice – his gaze was so cold that the ferocious blue man flinched away from it.

"Ulquiorra," Grimmjow called, regaining his egoistical manner, so this is where you've been hiding!"


End file.
